


Won't Cross These Streets (Until You Hold My Hand)

by commoncomitatus



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Compulsive Behavior, F/F, Prisoners Of The Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 91,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/pseuds/commoncomitatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera knows that her behaviour is 'unacceptable', but another lecture from Milady Josie won't change a lifetime of survival instincts.  Leliana understands, perhaps more than she'd care to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*

Sister Nightingale’s House Of Bird-Shite.

It’s the last place in Skyhold anyone would think of looking for her, so of course it’s the perfect place to hide. Everyone knows how much Sera hates the stupid birds, and even the ones who don’t are smart enough to know that you’re better off throwing yourself off the ramparts than trying to sneak around in Sister Leliana’s private places.

Not that this is really _private_ , exactly; if it was, maybe she’d think twice about hunkering down here uninvited. Fact is, for a supposedly off-limits area, it’s stupidly exposed; there’s a big old hole in the middle of the floor, for one, and isn’t it just as easy as anything to sneak a peek up from the library, or Solas’s creepy little hidey-hole? Isn’t it just easy as piss to crane your neck a bit from down below and see what’s going on up in the rafters? Can’t really call that ‘private, can you, when any old idiot can sneak a peek?

So, yeah, perfect hiding spot. Secretive and closed-off, so it’s easy to lay low, but not so personal and private that it’d make someone feel guilty for being here. It’s the perfect combination of shadows and basic decency, the perfect place to hide without feeling bad about it.

Good thing, that, because she’s feeling bad enough in other ways that there’s no room left for guilt anyway.

That’s the other good thing about this place. For all their creepiness, it turns out that screeching demon birds make bloody good cover. And yeah, Sera really needs that right about now. Because, sure, staying out of sight is easy enough — she’s been doing it her whole life, after all — but it’s not quite so easy to hide the groaning and the whining and the sad little want-to-die sounds she’s been making ever since she stumbled up here.

Oh, it’s worth it. Sure it is. But ‘worth it’ doesn’t always make for smart choices, does it?

In any case, the situation is what it is: staying hidden, easy; staying hidden when you can’t stay quiet, not so easy. And staying quiet is _definitely_ not easy with a very small belly crammed full with an entire dinner party’s worth of stolen desserts.

 _Worth it,_ she tells herself again, and forces down a moan.

She’s been here before. Well, not ‘here’ exactly, not in Sister Nightingale’s secret spot or whatever. Not ‘here’ as in _here_ , obviously, because frigging _birds_ … but ‘here’ as in curled up behind a bunch of boxes, riding out the too-full feeling in her stomach while desperately trying to stay hidden. _Here_ , yeah? Here, she’s been before. So many times, she’s all but lost count.

Because, yeah, that’s surviving, innit? Proper surviving, the kind that Varric never wants to hear about when he asks her about it for ‘inspiration’. He wants fairy-story surviving, he does, some woe-begotten orphan looking artfully sad, but Sera knows the truth. Surviving, really surviving, is all the shit that doesn’t make it into Varric’s stupid stories, the shit no-one wants to hear about.

Surviving is _this_ ; it’s stealing everything you can get your hands on and eating it all in one go. It’s stuffing yourself sick because you can’t risk getting caught and having to give it back. Only meal you’re gonna get, right? So, yeah, you have to make it count. They can’t make you give it back if it’s already gone down by the time they catch you, can’t take it away if it’s not there any more. Not even stupid pisshead nobles can do that, can they? So what if your body hates you for a while, stomach all swollen and feeling sick and all that shite? At least you’re still alive, yeah? Better than bloody starving, innit?

No real danger of starving here in Skyhold, she knows, but old habits die hard.

She’s only been there a short while when she hears footsteps coming up from below. Should’ve expected that, probably; Leliana never leaves this place for more than a piss break, and it’s been ominously quiet for way too long.

Not just footsteps, though, and that’s a bit more worrying. There’s voices coming, too, drifting up the spiral staircase in time with the patter of feet. One belongs to Leliana, obviously, and that’s not really a big deal; Sera’s hidden away well enough that even the sharp-eyed Nightingale probably won’t notice her right away, at least so long as she can keep her groaning to a minimum. The other voice, though? That one’s a problem. Belongs to Milady Josie, it does, and though she’s not nearly as observant as the Nightingale, still the sound of it makes the hairs stand up on the back of Sera’s neck. She’s the one she’s up here hiding from, after all.

She’s yelling, exasperated, and the part of Sera that isn’t bone-deep terrified is oddly smug about that.

“You must have _some_ idea!”

Unable to resist the urge to see the outrage for herself, Sera peeks around the boxes. Josephine is visibly furious, pacing and wringing her hands, the whole show; she’d probably be swearing, too, if she wasn’t in polite company or whatever, as if Leliana could ever be called that. It’s frigging hilarious, the look on her face, the way she’s acting like some spoiled brat, and Sera would laugh her guts out if she thought she could get away with it.

She knows better than that, though, and ducks back down before Josie has a chance to catch her. Save it for later, yeah? When she’s safe and there’s room inside of her for something sweet.

Leliana, it seems, isn’t quite so serious about all this as Josephine. “I assure you, Josie…”

Even her voice sounds like a smirk, and it’s not really much of a surprise that the sound of it outrages poor pissed-off Josephine.

“Nonsense!” she shrieks. “You are our _spymaster_ , Leliana! You cannot expect me to believe that you have no idea where she is!”

“I’m not completely infallible, you know.” She’s still grinning, Sera can tell, and she peeks out again just to catch the flash of her teeth.

“That is a matter of debate,” Josie huffs, all childish and shit; bloody miracle she’s not started throwing things, Sera thinks. “In any case, I would have thought that you, of all people, would have more than a passing interest in apprehending the one responsible for—”

“You take things too seriously.” Leliana’s voice is smoother than silk, and sweeter than all the sugar in Sera’s belly put together. “You always have.”

“That is…” Flustered now. Might be cute, if she wasn’t such a tit. “That is only because _you_ do not take them seriously _enough_.”

“Come now, Josie. It’s hardly the end of the world.”

Josephine throws up her arms, exasperated all over again. “Clearly, you have not seen the state of the kitchens.”

Sera stifles another laugh, and regrets it immediately. Her stomach gurgles, loud and ominous, and she ducks back down as quick as anything to ride out the cramping. She’s feeling really properly sick now, guts churning like nobody’s business, and the way Leliana and Josephine keep pacing round and round the big old hole in the floor, circles and circles, really isn’t helping. Might end up giving away her position despite her best efforts if this keeps up, and it takes a great deal of effort, breathing through her nose and closing her eyes, to remind herself for the thousandth time that it was worth it.

“All right,” Leliana says, but the lilt of her voice makes it pretty clear that she’s rather more interested in appeasing Milady Josie than dealing with the situation itself. “She can’t have gone too far, now, can she? I shall send out an agent to scout her usual haunts. Is that satisfactory?”

Josephine makes a frustrated noise. “It would be rather more so if you had taken this matter seriously from the beginning. If you had listened to me the last dozen times this happened, perhaps we could have taken precautions this time and prevented her from getting into the kitchens at all. Perhaps—”

“Oh, I’m sure she would have found a way,” Leliana deadpans. “She always seems to.”

 _Bloody right._ Sera smirks, though she knows no-one can see it. _Never met a lock that could keep me out._

“That is not a good thing, Leliana! Must you always sound so _impressed_?”

Leliana chuckles. “Why not? It is an admirable skill in its own right. The Inquisitor has fine taste in—”

“Leliana!”

“Yes, yes, very well. I’ll have her sent directly to your office the instant I track her down. I could arrange for some chains…”

She’s obviously smirking again, maybe even winking. Something inappropriate, anyway, because Josie lets out a wail of frustration. She sounds like she wants to bash her head against the wall. Probably Leliana’s too, and almost definitely Sera’s. Someone’s, anyway; hard to tell, when she gets like this, exactly who’s going to get the worst of it.

“That won’t be necessary,” she sighs after a moment. “As tempting as the idea is, I have no doubt that she’d find some nefarious means of wriggling out of them long before she arrived.” Another sigh, a proper dramatic one this time. “As you say, she’s resourceful that way.”

Leliana chuckles again, but it sounds a little sad this time, almost pitying. “I do wish you wouldn’t fret so much, Josie…”

“I’m sure you do,” Josephine mutters. “Meanwhile, _I_ am left wishing that we could host just one single dinner party without a potentially alliance-shattering ‘incident’.”

“I doubt the Duke of Montfort would cut ties with us over a few missing cakes…”

“Then you clearly do not know him!”

She’s just about at her wits’ end, sounds like, and Sera’s guts unclench ever so slightly as those delicate little slippered feet stomp back towards the stairs. _Almost free,_ she thinks, gritting her teeth. _Almost safe._

“Josephine…”

“Leliana, _please_. From the bottom of my heart, I implore you: if you ever valued our friendship, if my sanity means _anything_ to you, you will find that elf, and ensure that she is properly punished for these crimes against decency.”

“I—”

“Crimes against _decency_ , Leliana!”

Leliana splutters a laugh. Doesn’t even bother to hide it. Points for that, Sera thinks, and bites down on one of her own.

“All right,” she says. “Obviously, this means a great deal to you, and you are so very dear to me. You have my word: I will drop everything, and deal with this as a matter of urgency.”

She’s probably bowing or gesturing or something as she says it, all hand-wavy and exaggerated, because all the frigging birds suddenly burst out in a symphony of screeching. It’s like an applause or something, or maybe they’re just upset that she’s giving in. Stupid, yeah, but wonderfully noisy too, and Sera uses the chaos to smother a pitiful little moan. It’s getting less and less worth it by the second, her stomach thinks, but it’s not like she can take it back now.

Wouldn’t, anyway, even if she could. Because, yeah, old habits die hard. Maybe don’t die at all, and honestly it’d be okay if they didn’t; at least it means she’s not dying either.

Milady Josie mutters something sharp and bitter under her breath; the words are drowned out by the birds, and Sera isn’t in any condition to hear them anyway, but the important part is that she storms off right after, in a flurry of frills and perfectly-coiffed hair.

It gets real quiet once she’s gone. Without her temper filling up the place, the birds start behaving themselves again, and Leliana’s not the sort to talk to herself in lieu of actual people. Sera peeks out from behind the boxes, hoping against hope that she’ll take Josephine’s cue and disappear as well, but she doesn’t. Too much to hope for, apparently, not that Sera really expected much else. Fair enough, that; she does live here, after all.

For the time being she seems content to pace around the hole in the floor and peer down over the railing. Weird, but whatever; at least she’s not hunting elves.

Anyway. Point is, for as long as she’s doing that it seems that Sera’s stuck here too. Because, yeah, as sneaky as she is, Leliana is way sneakier. She’s got sharp eyes, sharp ears, sharp everything, and she’d spot Sera in about half a second if she tried to get away. She may not have been completely honest about making the elf-hunt her top priority, but Sera doesn’t doubt for a second that she’d snatch her up in a heartbeat given half the chance. Not even she is stupid enough to bet against those odds, and at least for the time being that’s just fine with her.

In the first, keeping her head down is a way better option than letting herself get handed over to Milady Josie; mood that she’s in right now, the lovely ambassador would probably rip her ears off. In the second, she doesn’t much fancy her chances of getting down that winding circular staircase without losing her stolen lunch… and, yeah, the last thing she needs right now is Solas coming after her too, for ruining another of his precious paintings. 

So, yeah. Better all around to just lie low until she can make a clean escape. Wait for her stomach to settle a bit, wait until Leliana turns her back, if she ever does; wait, if all else fails, for the stupid bloody birds to start screeching again. Wait, wait, wait, all quiet and stealthy, and—

“You can come out now.”

— _piss._

No point in pretending she’s not here, she supposes, and peeks out again. Leliana’s too good for that sort of shit and way too clever; she’d haul Sera out by the ears if she thought for a second that she was trying to outsmart her. It’s okay to get all stealthy and sneaky with Milady Josie, apparently, but the Nightingale is a different story. Off-limits, and woe betide anyone who tries. Makes sense, Sera supposes; she is the secret-keeper, after all. Wouldn’t want some little upstart stomping all over her territory or anything, would she?

So, yeah, because she’s kinda sorta not-so-secretly scared of Sister Nightingale and her army of demon birds, Sera does what she’s told.  Straightens up, creeps out from behind the boxes, tries to look innocent and shit.

“How’d you know I was here?”

Leliana, of course, only laughs.

Sera mutters curses under her breath. Drags herself upright, or mostly upright, and plops herself down on one of the boxes. She hopes there’s nothing too valuable in them, or at least nothing that can’t take her weight. If there is, she can only assume it’s okay, because Leliana doesn’t try to stop her; doesn’t look bothered at all, really, but then maybe she’s just silently adding it to the list of reasons to skin her alive.

Got a weird look on her face, though, like that’s the last thing on her mind. Looks almost sympathetic, actually, which is strange as shit because Sera had no idea before now that the Shadow of Birds was even capable of sympathy. Honestly, the whole thing just goes about a hundred leagues towards making her feel even more uncomfortable than she already is. It’s not just too much sugar that’s churning inside her now, but panic as well. Terrified and queasy as anything, it’s all she can do just to keep breathing as Leliana crouches in front of her, sighs all big and heavy, and shakes her head like she’s just found a puppy shivering in the rain.

“Here.” Her voice is weird too, soft, just like her face. “This will help, yes?”

She hands Sera a fistful of leaves. Elfroot, looks like, or something like it. For the nausea, Sera guesses, and that’s real tempting right now; not sure she can hold all this shit down by herself, and Maker knows she doesn’t want to lose her lunch as well as her dignity. Still, though, she hesitates, because there’s a tiny little voice in the back of her mind that wonders if maybe it’s poison or something, if maybe this is all part of Milady Josie’s master plan. Wouldn’t put it past her, and right now she wouldn’t put it past Sister Nightingale either. _Make it look like an accident. No-one ever suspects the elfroot._

So, yeah. Swallows, breathes through her nose, and shakes her head. Prays to Andraste that she doesn’t look as pathetic as she feels. “Think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Leliana smiles, like she knows, and bites down on a laugh. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Sera’s too relieved to even care that she’s apparently just that transparent. “Yeah?” she asks in a humiliatingly tiny voice. “You promise?”

She doesn’t mean to sound so stupid, so pitiful, but honestly, there’s not much point in keeping up appearances, is there? If Leliana’s handing over shit to chew on before she even bothers to say ‘hi’, she probably knows perfectly well how close Sera is to chucking up her latest prank all over the sodding birds. Knows everything, she does, and Sera’s not exactly good at keeping secrets. Probably greener than the bloody leaves at this point. 

Besides, maybe it’s not such a horrible thing to come off as a little pathetic. Might make Leliana go easy on her, or at least talk Josie into doing the same when she inevitably hands her over. If nothing else, it might make her a little less inclined to use those chains. Might as well play up the angle, since it’s all she’s got going for her, right?

Leliana chuckles, like she can see the wheels in her brain turning, and lays a hand on her shoulder. Her gloves are rough and heavy, but the contact is gentle. “I promise,” she says, very quietly.

Sera sighs, nods, chews on the stupid leaves.

It helps. Well, mostly helps, anyway. Helps with her guts, definitely. Makes it feel less like she’s trying to keep down the whole frigging world, and that helps her to focus a little better, but it doesn’t do a damn thing for the panic, the terror rising up in her chest every time the birds ruffle their stupid feathers or Leliana looks at her like that. Sister Nightingale is scary as anything, and she’s even scarier right now. Right up close, getting in Sera’s face and looking at her like… well, like someone who’s been using her silly little birdhouse as a hiding place, which, fair play, she has. Anyway, point is, that’s some seriously scary shit. Not enough leaves in bloody Thedas to help with that.

“You gonna hand me over to Milady Josie?” She wishes she could sound brave, but she can’t. Hard to sound anything at all over a mouthful of leaves, but harder still with Leliana looking at her like she’s planning the best way to feed her entrails to the birds. “Chains and all?”

Leliana laughs, a carefree little sound; melodic, yeah, but it doesn’t sound very Nightingaley at all. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she says. “From the look of you, I’d say you’ve learned your lesson, yes?”

Sera forgets about the leaves, chews on her lip instead. Wants to say something about that, about learning lessons and the way they hurt, but this is painful shit and it’s hard to make words out of pain with someone’s face so close.

Thing is, yeah, she’s learned this lesson. Learned it a thousand bloody times, hasn’t she? Five hundred on the streets of Denerim, another five hundred in Val Royeaux, and that’s not even counting all the spaces and places and time she wasted in between. Curled up, sick from eating too much, one hand on her belly and the other over her mouth, riding out the feeling in the shadows, hiding in dark corners from the rich tits who’d put her in chains just for trying to survive. Lesson learned, oh yeah, but which is the one she’s meant to be learning now? The one where stealing is bad, even when it keeps you alive? The one where eating too much is stupid, even when you’ve got no choice? Or the one where rich tits always find you, even in the shadows?

Suddenly, she doesn’t want to feel better. Doesn’t want Sister Nightingale’s leafy charity or the sympathetic look on her face. Doesn’t want any of this shit. She’d sooner curl up on her own, sick and sad and lonely, than look up and learn another frigging lesson.

“We done here?” she blurts out, inexplicably angry.

Leliana’s face falls. Disappointment, like she knew this was coming but hoped it wasn’t, like she really wanted more from this, but wasn’t so delusional that she expected it. Story of Sera’s frigging life, innit? She sighs, too, a weird sort of sigh that doesn’t match with the look on her face. It’s not the impatient little noise that Cassandra makes sometimes when Sera says something stupid, or the angry growly thing that Josephine gets going when she secretly wants to swear; it’s something else entirely. It’s a tragic sort of sigh, like pain, and Sera doesn’t understand it at all.

“You know this can’t happen again.”

 _Ugh_ , Sera thinks, and rolls her eyes. Because, yeah, of course she can’t get out of here without a bloody lecture. Of course that’s the important part. Learning lessons, saying sorry, whatever it takes to keep the pricks happy, and who bloody cares about the rest? Anything to sweep the problem under the carpet, anything to get the bloody rich tits back in favour. Anything at all, so long as she can go to Milady Josie and say, _‘hey, I tried’_.

Well, fine. Sera can play that way too. “Yes, Sister Nightingale. Whatever you say, Sister Nightingale.”

Probably laying it on a bit thick, there, because Leliana’s face hardens to frigging stone.

“That attitude is not helping,” she says. “Sera, this is not a game. You’re lucky that Josephine sought my help in finding you, and not Commander Cullen’s.”

Sera snorts. “Cullen? Jackboot couldn’t find his own arse if he was sitting on it.”

“That is…” She sighs again, but this time it’s more like surrendering, like throwing up her hands. “A fair point, I suppose. But that is hardly the issue here, is it?”

“Dunno,” Sera grumbles. “You tell me, yeah?”

Leliana locks eyes with her again. Flashing, dangerous. _Challenge accepted_. “Very well. Simply put, Sera, this behaviour must stop. It is senseless and needless, and—”

“Says _you_.”

She blurts it out real fast, real hard. Violent, almost, and it cuts Leliana off more effectively than she could’ve imagined. Didn’t really mean to come out that way, but those words cut into her like a lash, like punishment for shit she didn’t even do. Hurts, and she doesn’t care that she’s probably crossed some invisible line in saying it, because it’s more than she can do to keep her mouth shut.

Part of her, the part that’s still scared halfway out of her mind, wants to take it back, undo whatever damage she’s just done, but the rest of her is too angry to care. Angry, yeah, and wounded. So typical, so frigging _typical_ that no-one understands, that they don’t even bloody try. It’s all just some stupid prank to them, some silly childish shit that stupid Sera does because that’s who she is. No different to sticking Josie’s underthings up a flag-pole, is it? No different to switching the salt with sugar or whatever. No bloody different at all.

But it is. It _is_ bloody different.

Pranks are fun. Harmless, silly things. They’re a laugh, yeah? Not just for Sera, but for others as well. Forget that, don’t they? Forget that she’s not just doing this shit for herself. She’s laughing, sure, but so are the little people, the ones who don’t get to laugh very often at all, the kind who really frigging need to. She messes with the cook, and the kitchen staff get to spend their day smiling instead of ducking the switch. She drives Cullen to distraction with a wobbly desk, and his soldiers get to see that he’s one of them, that he’s not just some faceless dick who pushes them around. Respect him more for it, and everything’s a little easier. It’s good, the stuff she does; better than most give her credit for, anyway. And it is nothing like this.

This isn’t about them. It’s not about the little people who get a laugh out of seeing the boss go splat. She’s not doing any favours for anyone by stealing some rich tit’s desserts, and she’s sure as shit not helping anyone by eating the whole lot by herself. And yeah, she knows that. Knows that it’s not good, that it’s not helping, that it’s selfish and stupid and all the rest. Knows it. But what else is she supposed to do, when it’s all she’s ever known?

There aren’t many in the Inquisition who like her. Properly like her, to the point that they might bother even trying to understand the way she thinks. She’s not stupid, at least not about shit like that, and she knows it well enough. Honestly, half the time, she’s not a likeable person, and she’s never much cared what other people think of the shit she does. There’s plenty out there who’d sooner see her hanged than shake her hand, and plenty in here too. Milady Josie, for one, and Madame Vivienne for another. Proud of that, most of the time; if the sour-faced pricks think she’s worth getting their smallclothes in a fuss over, doesn’t that mean she’s done something right?

Still scary, though, innit? She’s only ever been worth as much as some rich tit told her she was, and that always meant _nothing_. Makes her blood run cold sometimes, to look around Skyhold and wonder if that’s changed.

So, yeah, she steals food. In case it does change, or maybe in case it changes _back_. Either way, gotta keep herself safe, doesn’t she? Steals too much, eats it all, and hides behind other people’s boxes while her guts churn. Pisses off as many noble tossers as she can when she does it, because why not, but it’s never really about that, is it?

Runs a whole lot deeper, honestly. Deeper than pissing off noble pricks who deserve it, deeper than getting a laugh out of the scullery maid she winks at on the way out. Deeper than a lot of people think stupid Sera can ever go.

Fact is, she has to do this. _Has to_ , yeah, like in her bones. Can’t afford not to, can she? Can’t afford to get all cozy and comfortable in this stupid place, this fancy Skyhold with its fancy kitchens and its fancy people wearing fancy clothes and whispering fancy words behind her back. They all look at her like she shouldn’t be here, and that’s the part that chokes her, the part that makes her do shit like this.

Because they’re right, aren’t they? She bloody _shouldn’t_ be here. Not like them, not like any of them, and one day the Inquisitor is going to wake up and realise that too. Going to realise that she doesn’t belong, that she never did, and then she won’t be here at all, will she? Be out on her arse, on her own, like she has been her whole life, and if she’s gotten so frigging comfy here that she can’t remember how to do this, how to steal and eat and hide and bloody _survive_ , then what’s going to happen when she’s back out there on the streets?

Because, yeah, she will be. Tomorrow, next week, whenever. One day, and real soon, they’re going to figure her out, and she’ll be gone. And when that happens, she has to remember how to do this.

She _has to_.

Leliana’s looking at her like she can see all that, like she can hear the words even though Sera hasn’t said anything, like she can feel what she’s feeling. Impossible, that, and it makes Sera angry, makes her cut her off before she can even start to talk, makes her voice shake when she says “Shut it” and “Don’t” and shit like that, makes her violent in a way she’s never had the guts to be before.

“Shut it, you.” Says it again, because she needs to hold on to the anger, the parts of her that don’t care if this is a bad idea, that don’t care if she’ll be skinned alive because she has to be heard. “You, with your bloody ’senseless’ and your bloody ‘needless’. What’s that even mean? Need, sense, all of it. Just more stupid shite that you fancy-pants pissheads get that little people don’t. _You_ decide what makes sense. _You_ decide what people need. Because, hey, if you and yours don’t need something, that’s got to mean no-one else in the whole bloody world ever bloody will.”

“Sera, that is not what I—”

“Might as well be, though, innit?” Shakes her head, hopes Leliana doesn’t notice that her hands are shaking too. “You don’t mean _senseless_ , do you? You just mean some shit that don’t make sense to _you_. You don’t… you don’t even frigging care that it might make sense to someone else… that it might make sense to _me_. You don’t even… you…”

She’s right on the edge now, tears in her eyes and everything, and she hates that, hates it almost as much as she hates the look on Leliana’s face, the way she twists it up into something new, something that isn’t Sister Nightingale at all, something tragic and broken and awful. She hates that she can’t look away, hates that big scary Leliana might see her cry, hates that she can’t stop.

“Sera.” Leliana’s voice is a ragged whisper, almost a plea, but Sera doesn’t want to hear it.

“You don’t even ask _why_.” she chokes, hateful and hurting. “You lot… you just make up your frigging minds, and that’s that. Senseless. Needless. Frigging pointless too, right? And it’s not fair… it’s not fair that you get to decide. It’s not fair that you get to tell me what I am. Frigging… frigging fancy-pants posh-prick arseholes. People like you and Milady Josie… you tits decide _everything_. And it doesn’t… it doesn’t matter that shit like this isn’t bloody ‘senseless’ to people like me. It doesn’t matter that we don’t think it’s ‘needless’ or whatever else. None of that frigging _matters_ , does it? Because you… you pissheads already decided that it is… that _we_ are. You decided that we’re senseless, you decided that we’re needless and pointless and… and _worthless_.” Her voice cracks, and she doesn’t even try to stop it from ending in a sob. “You decided it, so that’s what we are.”

Embarrassing, all that. Sera’s never been good at giving speeches, always too frigging emotional, too much passion and not enough of that pretty word-play the arses like. Never been any good, and now is no different. Actually, it’s even bloody worse now, because she’s not yelling at the Inquisitor or Dorian or whoever; she’s not arguing with her friends, she’s yelling at _Leliana_ , the great big frigging Shadow of Birds. And, yeah, she’s furious as fuck, but she’s also scared halfway out of her head, and between the two of them, the fury and the fear, she’s left damn close to exhausted.

On the plus side, Leliana looks a bit drained too, like maybe she heard some of that. Looks worn down, like Sera was bashing her with fists instead of just words, like she broke through to her with real violence, the kind that ends in blood. Almost makes her feel tough, that does, and she fights to keep from slumping back, fights to keep up the appearance of being bigger and better and more than she really is.

It’s a long moment before Leliana tries to say anything again, and when she does she keeps it real brief, like she’s half-expecting Sera to go off on one again if she tries for more than a word or two.

“I see.”

Sera doesn’t have the strength to go off on one, though, so she just sighs, shakes her head like the whole thing was a waste of bloody time. “Sure you do. See everything, you. All sneaky and shite.”

“Sera.” She sighs too. “You’re not in Denerim any longer, or Val Royeaux. You’re part of the Inquisition.”

“Bloody know that.”

Easy answer, yeah, but it doesn’t feel like the truth. Feels like a lie, bitter and awful in her mouth. It brings back the memory of other lies, other bitter tastes, and her stomach starts to churn all over again. Gonna let out something a whole lot worse than tears if this keeps up, and she bloody hates that too.

Leliana studies her for a very long time, watching the discomfort flash across her face like she has any idea where it’s coming from, like she even could. She doesn’t look angry, and that’s weird, but weirder still is that she still looks almost sad. Like she gets it, or some part of it, like she can see the dark corners that Sera’s used to hiding in, like she’s mapping out the streets and alleyways in her head, like she sees those places as clearly as Sera does. It makes Sera sad, too, the way she’s looking at her, and that makes it really hard to hold on to the anger, the parts of her that feel wounded and laid open, the parts that want to lash out, raw and violent, the parts that want to wrap all the hurt in hate. She wants to shout again, reassert herself, but Leliana’s looking at her like something else, like some _one_ else, like she’s… like _they’re_ … like…

_Shit. Piss. No._

She curses out loud, too, little hissing snarls. Sounds like a cat, she does, like those half-feral monsters that skulk around outside and down below, waiting for the frigging demon birds to come out, waiting to make a meal out of them. Half-feral, yeah, just like that, because she wants to be angry, wants to _hate_ , but there’s nothing left but the hurt. Hates on the inside, hates herself, but she can’t turn it outwards, can’t turn it on her, on Leliana and her sad face and her soft eyes, can’t turn it to the place that needs it. Half-feral, half-fearful.

“Sera—”

“Shut it.”

There’s no roughness in the way she says it, not this time, only desperation and helplessness, like the wounded plea of a scared child. She sounds broken, small and stupid, some silly little thing dressed in rags, some dumb kid who doesn’t know what she’s doing, stealing from rich tits and getting caught, and she can’t go through that again, not again, not again. She _can’t_.

She lurches to her feet. Like she can outrun this shit, right? Like she’d ever be that good.

Runs anyway, or tries to run, tripping over her feet as she stumbles to the stairs, the stupid winding spiral stairs, tripping and almost falling, but she doesn’t care. What’s another bruise on her knees if it’ll get her out of here? What’s another blush, another humiliation when she hits her head on the floor? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t care. She has to run, no matter the cost, has to get away, has to get out. _Survival_ , just like the stomach-ache that brought her here in the first place, and maybe it looks different, tastes different, makes different parts of her twist and churn, but it’s still the same old shit, still the same blood burning in her veins, and she can’t fight it now any more than she can fight the part of her that still believes it has to steal to survive.

Leliana doesn’t try to stop her. Doesn’t do anything, not that Sera expected her to, not that she frigging cares. She just watches, all wordless and dumbstruck and shit, watches her run, _run_ , like she can get away from the piss in her head as easily as she can get away from some stupid Spymaster, flee from the feeling as easily as she can flee from the flapping and the feathers of her birds.

Just stands there, Leliana does. Doesn’t do nothing, bloody _nothing_ , like Sera’s not even worth the effort. Funny, the way that stings. Didn’t even want her to, but not getting it still feels like shit. Weird, yeah? Weird that she’d resent her for not doing anything even as they both know she would’ve punched her in the face if she had; weird as piss. Weirder still that even though the idea makes her panic, still there’s some stupid part of her that almost _wants_ her to, that wishes she’d say something, even just her stupid name, wishes she’d take a step or a breath, wishes she’d just frigging do something, wishes she’d _care_.

But then, they never do, do they?

*

She spends the rest of the day hiding in her room.

Well. Technically, it’s not _her_ room, the little closet in the tavern. She knows that, sure, but no-one else wanted it and no-one’s complained since she moved in. Besides, it’s got all her stolen stuff in it now, all the little bits and pieces she’s nicked and pinched here and there, so surely that makes it hers by default. Or, well, something.

Still feels weird calling it hers, though. Feels weird calling anything hers, to be honest, but it’s as close to a place of her own as she’s ever had before, and that’s worth… well, a bit, anyway. Not a lot or anything, not like someone came up to her and said _‘hey, here’s a room for you’_ or _‘you looked like you needed somewhere to put your head down’_ or whatever, but no-one’s kicked her out yet, and that’s good enough for her.

So. Yeah. Hiding. Little room full of little corners, this place that is or isn’t hers, and even though she knows no-one’s stupid enough to come in without knocking first when the door’s slammed shut, still she hides in the smallest darkest corner she can find, wrapped up tight in shadows and stealth. Trick of the mind, that, like a double-bluff, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s worth coming after.

She’s not. She knows that, of course, but she lets herself pretend, lets herself imagine. Thinks of food, of cakes and jam and other shit she’s stolen, eaten, gotten away with. Thinks of the look on Leliana’s face when she told her to stop doing it, like it’s all so clinical and straightforward, like it’s about causing trouble. Thinks of Milady Josie, all seething mad and shaking her fists, not because she cares what Sera does but because she cares when her precious noble allies get upset. Can’t hold a proper tea party without proper dessert, right? And isn’t that the important part?

Stupid. It’s stupid, and she’s bloody stupid too.

Made sense, didn’t it? If she has to steal, and she bloody does, makes sense to steal from the rich tits, the ones that don’t need half the shite they get. She’d never steal from the Inquisition’s private stocks, no way; too much of that goes to people who matter, soldiers out fighting the good fight or little people who stumbled in from Maker-knows-where, pilgrims and refugees with nowhere else to go. The whole frigging world’s ending, and they’re putting their lives on the line to stop it; she’d never steal a meal from the likes of them.

Duke Dickhead of Arseington, though? He’s fair game, sure as shit. Anyone with a title is fair game.

She hugs herself, curls up as small as she can, hides in her safe shadowy corner. Tries not to think. Most important of all, that one. It hurts, thinking does, especially when she can’t stop it, and it’s too frigging often that thinking turns into worse things, like remembering. Her own shit, sure, but the other stuff too, the stuff that makes her guts clench all over again.

Leliana’s face, soft and sad and just a little bit broken, and Sera doesn’t want to think about that when she’s supposed to be angry, when she’s supposed to not care. Looked so much like she wants to help, Leliana did, like she felt it in her bones but couldn’t quite remember how to put it out there. Looked like wanting, like she was trying so hard to be something she’s not, something that maybe she used to be, and it hurts so bad because Sera has seen piss like this before, seen it and been it and learned to hate it, and she can’t let it happen again. Can’t let herself believe in someone else’s sadness, can’t let herself believe that it might be for her.

That’s the thing about Leliana, though, innit? She’s got a past. She’s got shit she used to be, shit that’s so different from what she is now, the shadow with the birds. Got a right proper past, she does, and maybe more than just one. She’s got a million colours in her, more than Sera can even count, but most of them have gone grey now. Grey and black and some faded shit that used to be purple. Flashes of red sometimes, but it wasn’t always like that. Can’t have been. It takes hurt to bring out that shade of red; Sera would know.

Sometimes she sees it, catches a glimpse of shorter hair, brighter, like it saw the sun, or maybe the ghost of a smile that doesn’t fit the shape of her face any more. Remembers little bits too, flashes of something in the corner of her memory, like those colours crossed her own, when the purple wasn’t faded and the only red flashes were Sera’s own. And it’s nice to imagine sometimes, too, to wonder what that other Leliana was like, the one she thinks she sees, the one with the shorter hair and the smile that fit, the one who didn’t need to hide behind her bloody birds, the one who could laugh and not make it scary, the one who might’ve understood why Sera does what she does. The one who knew how to frigging _care_.

Nice to think about, sure, but it’s painful too. Painful, because that Leliana is dead and gone, as sure as stupid Lady Emmald and her stupid frigging pride. Dead and buried, both of them, right? And what good is it, thinking about dead people when others are still alive, still struggling, still surviving? Sera won’t ever know that Leliana, the one without the birds, so what does it matter? So what if their paths might have crossed? So what if, by some miracle, a ragged little girl and a smiling lay-sister might’ve passed each other in some broken-down alley in the bad part of Denerim? So what? Who frigging cares when that smiling lay-sister is dead and that ragged little girl is—

—still alive and kicking.

 _Ugh_.

The reminder lashes deep, and Sera hates it. Hates that it’s not so easy for her as it is for Leliana, hates that it’s so much harder to kill off her younger self, so much harder to shut off the bad thoughts once they start, so much harder to hold herself down when her nerves light up and her body remembers what it used to be. She’s still there, right under the skin, shaping her and making her even now. The smiling lay-sister might be dead and gone, but that little girl is still alive, and even if Sera choked down all the desserts in Skyhold it still wouldn’t be enough to kill her.

She’s not like Leliana. She doesn’t have a dozen titles she can hide behind, pretty masks she can slip on like those pissbuckets in Val Royeaux, become someone else for a day, a week, a lifetime. She doesn’t get to play the Game one day and Spymaster the next, doesn’t get to be Left Hand to the Divine and Sister Nightingale and all that shit all at the same time, doesn’t get to go home and wrap herself up in a cloak of birds. She’s just _Sera_ , stupid shitty Sera, and all she’ll ever be able to do is steal and eat and hide.

So, yeah, she does. Again and again and again, because it’s all she has, all she is. Steals everything she can, eats it all, and hides here in this silly little not-really-her room. _Hides_. Hides from herself, the ragged little girl she’ll never escape and the screwed-up not-quite-grown-up she hates. Hides from the echo of screeching birds and nobles and everyone else who wants to peck her to pieces and put her in chains. Hides from Milady Josie’s not-quite swearing, hides from the sad look on Leliana’s face.

Hides, and tries to ignore the voices of dead people saying _senseless_ and _needless_ and _pointless_ and _worthless_.

*

It’s middle-of-the-night dark when the door slams open.

Sera doesn’t even need to look up to know who it is, but she does it anyway, out of habit. Milady Josie, obviously, in all her vengeful fury, and Maker, does that woman know how to make a bloody entrance.

She probably thinks she’ll catch Sera off-guard or something, rushing in on her like this, like she expects to find her curled up in bed, fast asleep and harmless. Like she’d ever drop her guard that low when she knows people are after her.

Daft as anything, but then how would someone like Josephine know that? Never had to hide from anyone in her whole life, has she? Never had to think like this, never had to spend the night curled up and trembling, waiting and waiting and waiting. Never run away from nothing, Josie, and it’s not like she’s ever made the effort to see the way Sera sees things; the only time they ever spend together, she’s too busy yelling at her for stealing stupid shit from stupid nobles, and how’s she supposed to learn better when she doesn’t shut up long enough to listen?

Besides, Sera wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. Something else Milady Josie might know if she took the time to ask. Hard to relax in a place like this, and harder still for someone like Sera; she’s always kept one eye open, as long as she can remember. Too accustomed to bracing against attack, or the idea of attack, the idea of waking to find her stolen blankets replaced by the business end of someone else’s boot. More old habits, and they die just as hard as the rest. Stupid, sure, but that’s just who she is, innit? Hard to sleep all comfy and snuggly when you’ve spent your whole life learning that it’ll end with a knife between your ribs.

So, yeah, no. Whatever Josie’s expecting, sweet slumber or some such shit, she doesn’t find it. Finds an empty room, or the look of one, because Sera’s better at hiding than Josie is at finding. She’s still in her dark corner, still curled up in the shadows, still trying a little too hard not to think, and the flash of gold silk or whatever as Josephine storms in doesn’t surprise her in the least. Easy, she thinks, and obvious. Typical rich-tit shite.

“I know you’re in here, Sera.”

Sera snorts, doesn’t even try to hide it. Stays in her corner, though, because Milady doesn’t deserve to see her just yet.

“Course you do,” she says. “You know everything, right? Oh, wait, no. That’s Leliana, innit?”

“Why, you insolent…” But she cuts herself off real fast, like she’s trying to be all diplomatic and ambassadorial and whatever, even though they both know this isn’t about that. Shame, really; Sera would give her right arm to hear Milady Josie bust out in curses. “No. I will not stoop to your level.”

Sera huffs a cutting laugh. “Should do. More fun down here than up there with your lot.”

Josephine pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s already nursing a headache; Sera hasn’t even let her get eyes on her yet, and she’s already showing weakness. Poor thing doesn’t stand a chance.

“Sera,” she says, voice all tight and prissy, like the name is an insult, like _she’s_ an insult. Just being what she is, being _Sera_ , and that’s the worst thing Milady Josie can think of. “How many times must I remind you that the kitchens are strictly off-limits? How many times must I change the locks before you cease trying to break them?”

“Trying?” Sera laughs again. “Trying, my arse. Wouldn’t have to replace them, would you, if all I did was _try_.”

Josephine sighs. “That is not something to be proud of, Sera. Skyhold is a home to all of us, the Inquisition and many more besides. For everyone’s sake, those who wish to remain under its protection must abide by its rules.”

“Or get kicked out, yeah?” And now she does step out from the shadows, because that gets her real angry and she wants Josephine to see it. “Just boot me back to Denerim or Val Royeaux or whatever?”

“If this behaviour continues…”

Sera throws up her arms, petulant and angry and not even caring that she looks like a child. “Frigging knew it.”

And she did. That’s the awful part; she bloody _did_. She doesn’t need Varric’s clever words and fancy books to tell this stupid story; she’s lived it a hundred times, knew how it would end before she even started. Curled up in the shadows, haunting dark corners, stealing and eating and hiding because the alternative is starving and bleeding and dying, surrounded on all sides by posh pricks in frills and lace, idiots who think the whole frigging world hangs on what they say and how they dress. Knew it, knew it, _knew it_.

Josie sighs, shakes her head, like she’s softening, or trying to. Nice effort, but Sera doesn’t much care. Doesn’t want her softer, does she? Just wants her bloody gone.

“I have tried to explain the rules to you,” she says, very quietly. “As has Leliana, the Inquisitor, Seeker Pentaghast, Madame Vivienne… the list goes on. And—”

“And _what_? That’s it? Play by the rules or get out? Play your stupid Game, do everything exactly your way, or it’s back out on the streets? Just like that? Just chucked away like… like some stupid broken _thing_ , some worthless old rubbish you don’t want any more… like I’m not even a frigging _person_?” She’s shaking, properly shaking, down to her bones, and she hates that, hates that Josephine can see it, hates that she can’t run away when she’s talking, that she can’t hide in the shadows when she’s trying to be seen. “Like I never was.”

Apparently that hits home, or at least hits something, because Josephine gives her the kind of look Sera’s never seen on her sort before, this intense powerful look, and sits down. Right there in the middle of the floor in that dirty run-down tavern room, sits herself right down, like she’s not above such a thing, like frilly Miss Prissy-Pants isn’t so far above a worthless little nothing like Sera. Like, for a second or two, they’re almost the same.

“Sera,” she says again, and it’s not an insult this time.

Sera hunches forward, hides her face. “What now?”

Josephine sighs, speaks slowly, like she’s choosing her words very carefully. “You are not so faultless as you would paint yourself. You must realise that. You have been warned about your behaviour countless times, by more than just myself. You have been…” She trails off for a moment, like she needs to reset before she can get too passionate or whatever. “We have explained it in great detail, have we not? Again and again, we have explained to you why this sort of thing is not acceptable, why we cannot abide petty theft and mischief within Skyhold’s walls. We do not exist in isolation, Sera. None of us do. This we have explained as well, and it is untoward of you to speak of it as though it is new information, as though we have not discussed the matter repeatedly.”

“That what you call it? _Discussion_?” It’s hard to argue properly, hard to do anything when she’s so angry, so upset; hard to think, and that makes it hard to form words. “Don’t remember doing nothing like that. Remember you telling me piss, sure. Remember you and your lot getting all up on _‘this is how it is, and you have to do it our way or else’_. Remember that, yeah. But where I come from, getting shoved around and told what to do doesn’t count as a frigging discussion. Gotta actually _listen_ for that. Right, Milady Ambassador?”

Josephine takes a deep breath, holds it with her eyes closed. “In our defence, Sera, it is hardly a matter for debate. The lines here are defined quite clearly. Even you must concede that. Put simply, your behaviour is _wrong_. No amount of listening, or discourse, will change that fact.”

“And how would you bloody know?” She sounds stupid, petulant, but she doesn’t care. Won’t back down now, even if she’s in a corner. Can’t let them win, can’t let them make her feel bad. “You lot, with your fancy silks and your prissy dresses. You decide something’s right or wrong, and that’s it. No-one else gets a say, do they? And it doesn’t matter if we could change it or not, because you’ll never give us the chance to try. Because we both know that’s not what this is about. Right and wrong, piss on that. Piss on the little people too. Who cares if they’ve got something worth hearing or not? Because it’s all about _you_ , innit? You big-hat pricks. You decide everything, just so you can pat yourselves on the back and say _‘look how important we are’_.”

“That is quite enough!”

Violent, the way she says it. About as close to an explosion as Sera’s ever seen from the buttoned-up Lady Josephine. Rattled, or sounds it, and that should be a good start, but it’s not.

Fact is, Josie kind of has a point, what with the whole ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ thing. Yeah, Sera will admit that, at least inside her head where no-one else can hear it. It’s a simple thing, right? Stealing bad. Sharing good. Whatever. It’s all true enough, at least in theory. But it doesn’t matter none in the end, does it? She could be right as anything, Milady Josie, and Sera still wouldn’t give up.

And why should she? Why does she always have to be the one who has to shut up? Why can’t _they_ do it for once? If she shut them down like this in the middle of their ‘explanations’, she’d end up in a bloody cell. But here, in Sera’s frigging room, the closest thing to her own personal space as she’s ever had, still it’s okay for Milady Josie to cut in and yell _‘that’s enough’_ and expect Sera to just back the fuck down?

It’s not fair. Stupid, yeah, but when has that ever stopped Sera from getting angry before? She’s supposed to be better than this, she knows, supposed to be _more_ , but it’s so bloody hard to be more than anything when she’s been taught her whole life that she’s less than everything.

Hates that. Hates it so frigging much. Hates that these people can make her into things that aren’t really her, hates that she doesn’t get to decide for herself what _her_ even means. Hates that it’s a constant reminder of what she doesn’t have, what she doesn’t deserve. Hates that becoming those other things, the worthlessness and the nothing, tells her again and again that _her_ , the one she might choose for herself, is worse. Hates it, hates it, _hates it_.

She lashes out with her fists, blind and vicious, and catches only the air.

Almost worth it, the fit of rage, the violence, for the way that Josephine scoots backwards. She’s terrified, looks like, all wide-eyed and clutching at her chest like some prissy Orlesian catching sight of something icky. She’s looking at Sera like she’d look at something wild, something dangerous, like Sera’s some bloody beast that got out of its cage, like she’s all teeth and claws and poised to kill. She’s not, but it’s kind of nice to think of herself like that. Being dangerous beats being worthless, yeah? And sure, why not? People like Josie talk about animals like they’re less than human, but Sera’s been less than human all her life, and at least animals get to make people bleed before they get put down.

It’s a long moment before Josephine finds her voice again, and it’s predictably prissy when she does. “Honestly, Sera, there really is no need for such displays of violence.”

“Says you.” And she lashes out again, just to watch her flinch, just to remind them both that she can still do that. “Easy for pricks like you to say it’s not necessary. Because people bloody listen to you. You talk and they listen, and that’s it. No need for frigging violence when you live like that, right? Bet it looks real _needless_ to a fancy tit like you. _Senseless_ too, yeah?”

Josephine clearly doesn’t get the weight of the words, but she bows her head just the same. “Well…”

“Right. But some of us don’t get that. Some of us don’t ever get heard, no matter what we say. We’ll scream ourselves dead before people like you hear us.” She takes a breath, sits on her hands to stop herself from doing something she’ll regret. “You try living like that and not getting violent, yeah?”

Josephine studies her for a very long time. She’s still angry, Sera can tell, and disgusted and offended and all that fancy-pants shite, but there’s something else in her now, something different. Not acceptance, not really, but as close to actual listening as Sera’s ever seen in someone like her. Thoughtful, and kind of… kind of _something_. Not sad, not like Leliana, but something sketched out in a way that feels sad-like. Hard to describe when you don’t know words, but Sera’s always been good at finding meaning where words don’t go.

 _Maudlin_ , she thinks. Dorian uses words like that sometimes, when he’s trying to be all posh, trying to wind her up into slinging an insult; Sera doesn’t know exactly what they mean, those words, but they fit nicely next to the look on Josie’s face. Fancy words like _maudlin_ and _melancholy_ and _morose_ , weird-sounding ‘m’-words that she can’t quite get her tongue around. They conjure up pictures in her head, though, at least when Dorian says them; he’s good at that, making her see things with words she doesn’t understand. Feels right, the things she sees in her head when she thinks of them and the things she sees reflected in Josie’s face right now. Fancy, yeah. Fitting that fancy words fit her fancy face. 

“I…” She sighs, a shallow sort of sound; it’s fancy too, in its way. “Forgive me, Sera.”

“You what?”

Because, yeah, that’s about the last thing she expected to hear. She was already bracing for fresh new insults, for hearing her name like a dirty word, seeing the disgust turning Josephine’s nose up even higher. Milady Josie would never debase herself enough to use actual curse-words, of course, but Sera was at least expecting some kind of thinly-veiled cruelty, a cutting jibe she’d only half-understand or a heartless dismissal. _Something_ , yeah? But not this. Not _‘forgive me’_. Close enough to _‘you’re right’_ that it almost makes her choke.

Never heard that from her sort before. Noble pricks never admit they’re wrong, and they sure as shit don’t ask worthless nobodies like Sera to forgive them for it. Never stoop that low. Never.

But she does. Milady Josie. Not only says it, but says it a second time when Sera asks her to repeat herself. Doesn’t stop her from being a tit about it, though, speaking real slow and careful, like she’s talking to a little kid, like Sera’s more than just stupid, like she needs help to understand even simple basic words. The words don’t make sense, of course, and anyone with half a brain would be staring at her like that, but that doesn’t matter to Josephine, does it? Have to keep up appearances, have to come out on top. Always the way, innit? Not their fault for being weird; always Sera’s fault for being stupid.

“I said ‘forgive me’.”

Sera growls, but doesn’t lose her temper this time. “Right,” she says. “Thanks for clearing that up, Milady.”

Josephine’s lips twitch for a second, like she wants to say something unkind, but apparently all that ambassador’s training was good for something because she holds it together, keeps her smug little diplomat’s face all perfect and steady. No points for that, so far as Sera’s concerned; she’d sooner see a face show what it feels, even if it’s cruel, than some shitty Orlesian mask.

“Indeed,” Josephine says, so close to frowning. “You must concede, Sera, that you are not an easy person to speak with.”

A fair point, and Sera takes it. “So?”

“It is simply…” Another sigh, heavy and frustrated; for once, though, it sounds like she’s more frustrated with herself than with Sera. Strange, that. “You are so easily _angered_ , Sera. And you do not listen to reason. You must understand that these shenanigans of yours are harmful. In fact, I know you do. You are not a fool, as much as you enjoy playing one, and I know you comprehend more than you let on. You know that your behaviour is wrong, and yet you continue to challenge…” She stops short of saying _me_ , of making it personal, and yeah, Sera respects her for that. “… _authority_.”

Cute choice of alternative there. Sera bites her tongue, tries not to laugh. “Bloody right.”

Josephine, of course, ignores the jab. “I have served as an ambassador for a long time. I have dealt with all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds, yet I can say with absolute certainty that I have never once been forced to to deal with someone like you.”

Sera does laugh, then. Proper, rude and raucous, loud enough to wake the dead, because that is the most hilarious shite she’s heard in years.

“Of course you bloody haven’t!” she splutters. “People like me don’t need frigging ambassadors, Your Ladyship. We need…”

But she can’t say it. _Can’t_ , and the laughter dies strangling in her throat.

Fact is, people like her need a lot of things. Simple things, gentle things, things that make her stomach hurt. Can’t very well say that now, though, can she? Not in front of Josephine. Can’t let her see the sting, the hurt, the ragged little girl all lost and lonely on the streets, hungry and frozen and desperate. Can’t let her see that. Can’t let anyone see it, really, but especially not Milady Josie with her silks and her ruffles, all puffed up on right and wrong and good and bad, on storybook shit that even Varric knows isn’t so simple in the real world. She’s exactly the wrong kind of person for this kind of thing, exactly the wrong kind of person to look inside and see all that awful shit, the parts of Sera that really are stupid and broken, the parts that really should be chucked away.

 _Piss_ , she thinks. _Piss_ and _shite_ and _arse_. Thinks every foul word she can find, and tries to block out memories of another maudlin face, of ruffles and silks and a noble’s title. Tries so hard not to think, not to remember, not to go back inside herself and become the thing she’s hiding from. Tries, tries, tries, but the salt stings in her eyes before she can push it back down.

 _No_ , she thinks, but Josephine cuts in before she has a chance to say it.

“Yes.”

“What?” Desperate, the way she says it, the way she clings to this moment, to a noble who isn’t _that_ noble, to silks and ruffles that come from Orlais, from Antiva, from anywhere but _there_.

Josie’s studying her again. Almost smiling now, and the softness makes Sera want to heave. “Yes,” she says again. “Believe it or not, Sera, I think you and I may actually be in agreement.”

That doesn’t help. Honestly, it just makes everything even weirder. “What’re you on about?”

Josie makes a thoughtful sound, a hum in her throat. Pretty, or it would be, only she’s leaning in as she does it and Sera’s too terrified to pay attention to the way she sounds.

She doesn’t even ask permission. Just leans in, gets right up in Sera’s personal space, and touches her. Sera wants to lash out again, wants to punch more than just the frigging air this time, wipe that maudlin-morose-melancholy look right off her frigging face, send her running out the door with an animal slash and a scream and a shout. Wants to do anything she can, anything if it’ll just get her out of her space, stop her from looking at her like that, stop her from seeing her, touching her. Hand on her shoulder, sliding down her arm, proper touching her, all gentle and tender and shit, like she thinks it’s comforting, like she thinks Sera deserves that, like she thinks she’s worth it, worth this, worth _anything_.

“It is simple,” she says, and the words almost drown out the rest of it, the tactile overload. “You say you do not need an ambassador. I am inclined to believe you are correct.”

“Then what?” Sera blurts out, breathless.

Josephine holds her by the wrists. Her fingers are long, graceful; she’d probably be real good at other stuff, Sera thinks, stuff that’s a whole lot more fun than this, but she can’t think too hard about shit like that right now. Can’t think about anything at all, really, except the way it makes her feel trapped. Funny, that; Leliana joked about putting her in chains, but that never made her feel caged and tied up like this does. Just fingers, yeah? Long, graceful fingers, and sure they’d fit real well in other places, but around her wrists they chafe worse than any chains Sera can imagine.

“Perhaps I should be asking you that question,” Josephine says.

Sera blinks, confused. Hard to keep up with this conversation when Josie’s doing her best to wipe out her brain, and she has to slow her breathing right down before she can even try to keep up with this shit.

“You what?”

Josephine chuckles, all low and condescending, and lets go of Sera’s wrists. She’s gentle as anything when she does it this time, like the fury when she stormed in never existed at all, and there’s an odd look on her face when she climbs to her feet. She’s kind of graceful, yeah, but not as much as Sera would’ve expected after the curve of her fingers. Interesting, that, like maybe she’s not as comfortable in her skin as she wants other people to think. Makes Sera feel a bit better, seeing it. Makes Josie seem a bit more human, anyway.

“Surely it’s not complicated,” she says, pressing on like she does in that prissy formal voice of hers. “You claim that I do not listen to you, that I am not equipped to understand your perspective. I concede your point. But you in turn must concede that your thieving is unacceptable. I understand that you do not feel comfortable discussing the matter with a… with someone like myself. You, in turn, understand that I cannot allow this behaviour to stand. Thus, we find ourselves at a stalemate. And so I put the question to you: how do you propose that we deal with it?”

Sera has no idea. She’s never been asked before.

“I…” Her mouth is dry; she feels very small and very stupid, and she hates everything. “I dunno.”

Josephine smiles. Tries to, anyway. She’s shooting for condescending, Sera can tell, all noble-like and arsey, but there’s that maudlin-morose-melancholy look hidden underneath, the one that makes Sera think of Dorian and the way he makes fancy words sound normal. It makes her uncomfortable, the way she tries so hard to be what she’s not, trying to come off all smug and self-righteous when really she’s just a shitload of sad-sounding ‘m’-words.

“I see,” she says after a moment. “That is most enlightening. Thank you.”

Sera stares, mouth half open. “You what?”

“Enlightening,” Josephine says again, slower. “In diplomatic terms, it means, ‘I shall think on your counsel’.” Probably doesn’t mean that at all, but Sera doesn’t much care. Wasn’t asking for a bloody definition, was she? “Now, if there was nothing else…”

She’s already halfway to the door, and Sera must be going half-mad because she finds herself reaching out to stop her. She’s home free, almost, so close to safe, and here she is with her hand stretched out, calling after her, acting like she frigging wants to get caught.

“Wait,” she blurts out. “You’re going?”

Josephine turns back. Her smile is sickening. “Unless you needed something else?”

Needs a lot of things, Sera does, but not from her. “Don’t get it,” she mutters, grateful that she sounds more sullen than shocked. “Just like that? Just gonna let me go, after what I did? No punishment? No chains? No nothing?”

“Indeed.” There’s a weight to the way she says it, though, like this is just a probation or something. “For the time being, at least. You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Sera, and I appreciate it. I can only implore, for the hundredth time, that you please stay out of the kitchens while I consider how best to proceed. Is that acceptable?”

 _No chance_ , Sera thinks but she knows better than to push the petulance now. “Sure,” she says instead. “Why not?”

“Excellent.” Sounds like she means it too, daft bloody tit. “Good day, Sera.”

And then she’s gone. Just like that. Gone, door clicking quietly shut behind her, and Sera’s left in an empty room in a mostly-empty tavern, wondering what in Andraste’s name just happened.

She feels weird. Shaky, for a start, uncomfortable, like her body isn’t really hers, like her bones are made of water and her skin’s made of paper. Bad combination, that. Feels exposed, too, like she’s not actually alone at all, like the walls are staring at her or something. Hasn’t felt like this in a long time, and when she opens her mouth to yell after Josie’s retreating footsteps, there’s a tension in her jaw that feels like pain.

“It’s not…” She sounds hoarse even to her own ears, a ragged little girl choking on a childish complaint, but she has to say something, has to have the last word even if it’s senseless and needless. “It’s not frigging _day_!”

The answering silence is sickly-sweet, and it settles in her stomach like stolen sugar.

*


	2. Chapter 2

*

It’s another few days before she eats again.

That’s important, too. Remembering how to steal and eat and hide is one thing, and easy enough in a place like Skyhold, but it’s just as important to remember what it’s like when you can’t, when there’s nothing to steal or eat and nowhere to hide. Remembering how it feels to be half-starved, remembering how to survive on an empty stomach, how to stay alive with nothing. Not so pretty, that part, but she has to keep it just as close as the rest.

Can’t stress it enough, how important it is. Can’t let all this fancy shit go to her head, can’t let herself get complacent. Skyhold and the Inquisition, all that shite; so important not to get dependent on this place and its endless supply of pretty much everything. So much she doesn’t need always at her fingertips, and she has to remind herself that it won’t always be. It’s hard enough to find the closed-off places, keep her stealing skills sharp by finding bigger challenges, but it’s harder still to bite down and keep herself hungry when she knows that she doesn’t have to.

But that’s wrong, innit? She _does_ have to. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not then…

Has to remember that. Won’t always be this easy, will it? When they kick her out and she’s back on the streets, she won’t have any of this shit under her hands. No big kitchen, no big pantry, no great big fortress all laid out and ripe for the picking. Won’t have anything at all, will she? Just herself and her instincts, and those won’t be worth much if she doesn’t keep them sharp.

So, yeah, got to be careful, can’t get all complacent and shit. She needs to pace herself while she’s still got the chance, make sure her body remembers how to keep itself alive when it has no choice. Got to remember, because it’ll happen again soon enough. Can’t get caught unawares.

She works hard at that over the next couple of days. Remembers, biting her wrist when her guts start gnawing on themselves, whispers to herself that suffering now will keep her alive when it matters. Can’t let herself get soft, can she? Can’t get weak and fat on other people’s shite, not when they’re the ones who’ll take it all away in the end. It’s the same here as it was on the streets in Denerim; a sympathetic look from a passing noble and a sovereign or two chucked at her feet. Sweet, sure, but shit like that only lasts as long as _they_ want it to.

She stays out of the tavern as much as she can, because it’s too frigging tempting to sneak behind the bar when she’s feeling like this, sneak back there and drink the place dry. Always ends bad, drinking without food in you, and Sera’s smart enough not to make herself more miserable than she already is. Stays away from temptation, even if it does mean staying out of her room as well.

Stays away from the main fortress too, though there’s plenty of prank-bait there that could distract her real well if she had a mind to it. She doesn’t want to run into Milady Josie, though; hard enough trying to talk circles around a frigging ambassador when her head’s on straight, but with the lack of food making it spin and her too bloody dizzy to explain herself to some ruffle-wearing tit who’s never been hungry in her whole damn life? Well, that’s a recipe for disaster right there. Given their last little talk, confusing as it was, Sera doesn’t even want to think about it. Sooner be bored out of her mind than risk something like that, yeah?

So, instead, she hangs around outside. Paces around in the courtyard, mostly, sticking to the shadows so no-one can see her or, worse, try to talk to her. Doesn’t want to deal with people at all, not just the fancy ones. Doesn’t want to deal with the good ones, either, the ones who won’t accuse, won’t judge, won’t do nothing. Still look at her, won’t they? Still feel things. Doesn’t want any of of that, and so she stays hidden. Shadows, corners, high up on the roof sometimes, hiding in plain sight. Daft, that; it’s exposed as anything, but no-one ever bothers to look there. Only ever want what’s right under their noses.

She watches. All of them, anyone she can get her eyes on. Cassandra training by herself, Bull with his boys, Cullen and his soldiers. Watches the surgeon and the healers flitting about, tending the ill and injured. Thinks about helping, but the idea make her itchy on the inside, turns her empty stomach; she’s got no problem dealing with open wounds or sick people, but the healers are mages and they scare the piss out of her. Safer to keep her distance, yeah? Better for everyone.

Watches the big-shot important people, too, the fancy-pants rich tits in their big hats and big shirts. They come and go in all directions, running about like everything hangs on them not being late, like that’s the shit that matters. Pisshead nobles from Val Royeaux, smart-arse diplomats from Antiva and Ferelden, all of them. Sweet-talking pricks, dressed up like anyone cares, smiling like the bloody world isn’t ending. Sera watches from her hidden places, and hates them all.

She throws stuff sometimes, too, when she’s on the roof, just to see how they react. Little things, mostly, nothing properly dangerous; scrabbly pebbles bouncing off Cassandra’s shield or Bull’s back, fistfuls of dirt raining down on nobles’ heads, that sort of silly shit. Cassandra and Bull ignore it, of course, but the nobles aren’t so thick-skinned; they ‘tsk’ and look up, all offended and horrified, and Sera ducks down out of sight before they catch sight of her. Fun, imagining the look on Milady Josie’s face when they show up at her office all pissed-off and put-out. More fun, imagining the way she’ll turn purple as she pieces together the reasons why. A whole lot less fun, knowing what she’ll do when she catches her.

She doesn’t need to worry about that, as it turns out, because Leliana catches her first.

Should’ve seen that one coming, to be honest. She’s got birds everywhere, the Nightingale does, and Sera’s not exactly inconspicuous, sitting up there on the roof and chucking stuff down on everyone. Easy enough to stay hidden from idiots who don’t know how to look, but Leliana does that shit for a living, and nothing gets by her. Definitely should’ve seen it coming, but what can she do about it now?

She corners her just as the sun’s going down. On another day, Sera might’ve been happy for the distraction, but in her current state it’s all she can do to keep from ducking and running. Two days gone hungry now, and her nerves are about as frayed as they can get; she’s in no mood to deal with anything or anyone, and especially the Shadow of Birds. Be bad enough if it was Bull or Blackwall, and they’re oblivious to everything; no danger of them sitting her down in front of a hot meal and telling her to stop this stupidity. Bad enough, too, if it was Dorian; he’s a little more observant but easier to sweet-talk. In any case, there’s not many of her friends she can’t convince to turn a blind eye with a bottle of the right stuff.

Leliana’s not like any of them, though. She’s smart, like stupid-smart. She’ll catch on in about half a second, and there’s not a bottle in Thedas strong enough to buy her ignorance.

Anyway, it’s just awkward, innit? After their not-so-civil chat in the rookery, the last thing Sera needs is for Leliana to start asking why she’s gone from hot to cold in the space of two days, from stuffing herself sick in one minute to starving herself stupid in the next. She’ll get that there’s a reason, obviously (because, yeah, stupid-smart) but she won’t get why, and even just the idea of trying to explain it makes Sera’s blood turn to ice. Not like she could understand, is it? Not truly. And anyway, it’s her shit, Sera’s, not theirs. She doesn’t want to talk about it, and that should be that. Should be good enough, shouldn’t it? It’s not for them, and it’s not about them; it’s _hers_ and she wants it to stay that way.

And maybe Leliana’s smart in other ways too, because she doesn’t ask. Smart enough to sense that it’s a bad idea, maybe, or else she’s just making a feint at being nice. Either way, it has to be deliberate, because there’s no way she doesn’t notice. No way she doesn’t see the tremors in her hands, the way she’s shivering even though it’s not really cold, the way she can’t keep her vision in focus. No way she doesn’t see all that shit, because she’s Sister frigging Nightingale and she sees everything. And yet, by some bloody miracle, she doesn’t say a word about it.

She does, however, mention the dirt-chucking, but at least she does it with a smile on her face.

“I hear Lord and Lady Planchet received quite the warm welcome when they arrived this morning…”

Sera snorts, rolls her eyes, tries not to look as relieved as she feels. “Wouldn’t know,” she says.

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

She lets her smile get a little cheeky, though, a little mischievous, like maybe there’s a part of her that approves, not that she’d ever be allowed to say so. It’s only a second, maybe even less, so Sera can’t be sure, but the idea is enough to help her unwind just a little bit. Good thing it does, because the instant the mischief disappears it’s replaced by something rather more serious.

 _Piss_ , she thinks, and tries to pre-empt the damage. “You need something, or you just here to make small-talk?”

Leliana gives her a thoughtful look, like she wasn’t expecting the question. “You’re surprisingly approachable today,” she says. “After our last encounter, I halfway expected you to run at the sight of me.”

Sera scuffs the ground with her toes, tries not to think about that. “Even if I did, you’d find me,” she mutters. “You find everyone. S’what you do, innit?”

“Well, it involves a little more discretion than that. But in principle…” She’s chuckling, but it’s a little guarded, like she doesn’t trust Sera any more than Sera trusts her. Makes her feel important, that, like she’s more dangerous than she really is. “In any case, I’m glad to see it. You left in such a hurry last time, I was worried you might…”

“No.” She doesn’t know what Leliana was worried she might do, and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to know either. “I’m good. Everything’s good.” But that can’t be it, surely, and she has a suspicion she knows where this is heading. It’s like Milady Josie all over again. “Suppose you want me to say ‘sorry’ for yelling at you?”

Leliana shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.” Her smile brightens, but there’s that sadness in her eyes again that makes Sera’s chest go tight. “You raised some interesting points. I’d never ask anyone to apologise for that.”

It’s weird, hearing it. Sera’s as passionate about her convictions as anyone, but she’s never heard anyone else talk about them that way; usually it’s just _‘be quiet, Sera, the grown-ups are talking’_. She’s been called a lot of things in her life, most of them awful, but never ‘interesting’, and definitely never by someone like Leliana, someone who probably knows ‘interesting’ better than anyone. Weird, too, that she kind of almost looks like she means it, like she’s not just trying to sweet-talk Sera so she’ll stop being a brat; she’s looking at her like she’s more than just some stupid flat-eared knife-ear, like she really does have stuff worth saying, like she really is someone ‘interesting’.

More than just that, though. She’s looking at her like she really, properly understands. Like it’s not just interesting in a theoretical-idea sort of way, but because she gets where it comes from, the dark corners and shadowy places, all the shit that most people don’t like being reminded of. She’s looking at Sera like she really wants to listen, wants to hear about it, wants to learn from someone small and stupid, someone like Sera. Double weird, that, and Sera realises that it doesn’t feel as good as she thought it would. It’s like the other night with Josie in her room, like being asked for the first time _‘what do you think we should do?’_ and realising she doesn’t have an answer. She’s so used to being ignored or shoved aside, she has no idea know what to do when she’s not.

“Yeah?” she hears herself mumble, like a bloody idiot. “I mean, _yeah_. Glad to hear it.”

Leliana tilts her head, face thrown into shadow by her hood. “In any case, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?” She’s bristling again, by pure instinct. “Well, whatever Milady Josie’s been telling you, it’s all lies…”

Leliana laughs. Like, properly laughs, loud and exuberant and right in Sera’s frigging face. She wants to get angry about that, wants to lash out like she did with Josephine, maybe attack the air again, since she’ll never have the guts to attack Leliana directly. Feels it, kind of, but not as much as she expects. She usually hates it when people pull shit like that, laughing off the things she says like they’re worthless, but this time it doesn’t hurt quite so much. Honestly, it’s almost a relief, not being taken seriously after words like ‘interesting’ and that too-soft smile. A bit closer to what she’s used to, the laughter, and that makes it easier to swallow.

Anyway, once the moment dies, Leliana sobers up real fast. “So quick to leap to conclusions.”

“You would be, too, if you were like me,” Sera grumbles.

“A fair point,” Leliana says, and almost looks like she means it when she adds, “I apologise.”

Sera grunts, shrugs it off. “So what, then? If I’m not in trouble…”

“You’re not,” Leliana says. A little too quick to reassure, she is, and it sets Sera’s teeth on edge. “In fact, I thought I might commandeer you for a while.”

Sera splutters. “Do I look like I’m into that? But, hey, if you’re keen, I know a girl in Val Royeaux…”

Leliana bursts out laughing again.

“ _No_ , Sera,” she manages when she’s done, like Sera’s the worst kind of idiot. “That is not what I…”

“Well, then, what?” She supposes she should be proud of herself for that, reducing the Shadow of Birds to a helpless giggling mess, but she’s not; she’s just annoyed because, once again, not understanding clever-person shit is the worst crime in the whole frigging world. “Just felt like wasting both our time with your fancy words?”

“No, no.” She clears her throat, composes herself. “My apologies, I should have been clearer. I have an errand to run, away from Skyhold. One that might make use of your particular talents. If you’re not needed here, I thought you might accompany me.”

It’s a good thing she’s been avoiding the tavern, Sera thinks, because if she had a drink in her right now she’d be choking on it. “You what?”

“I said—”

“I heard you, you daft tit!”

Leliana doesn’t laugh this time, but she does smirk. Sharp at the edges, almost dangerous. Makes the hair stand up on the back of Sera’s neck, it does. Makes her feel like the wrong answer, even the wrong frigging look, will end with her body being dug up a thousand leagues away covered in bird-shite and feathers. She doesn’t take the words back, though, just scowls and waits for an explanation, pretends like she’s the one in control, even though they both know it’s the other way around.

“Then allow me to elaborate,” Leliana says after a moment. “There is a particular trinket I want to get my hands on, and my sources suggest that acquiring it will require some degree of…”

She doesn’t finish, just spreads her arms and lets the gesture speak for itself. Sera catches the meaning well enough, though, and her mouth drops open.

“You want me to help you _steal_ something?”

The smirk twitches into a proper smile, all sneaky and stealthy and like… like they’re friends or something. Can’t really be that, though, can it? Trick of the light, the sunset glinting off her chainmail or something. Has to be.

“I didn’t say that,” she says, though they both know she might as well have. “I simply wish to _liberate_ it. A significant distinction, yes?”

It’s a trap. Has to be, right? After everything that’s happened over the last few days, there has to be more to this than it seems. They’re messing with her head, Leliana and Milady Josie, the two of them together. They’re planning some big elaborate prank to teach her a lesson or something, fighting fire with fire or whatever the mages say, stooping down to her level. Have to be, don’t they? Frigging have to be.

She narrows her eyes, lets Sister Nightingale see that she’s onto her, lets her see that she knows what this is really about, that she’s not bloody fooled. “Pfft,” she says. “What’s your game?”

“Such an interesting turn of phrase.” There’s that word again, _interesting_ , though she says it mostly to herself this time. “You’re… well, never mind that. I assure you, there’s no game. Not here, anyway. I simply want to obtain something… off the record.”

“ _You_?” It shouldn’t surprise her, really; of everyone in the Inquisition, or at least everyone Sera knows, Leliana is about the only one she might almost expect to pull shite like this. “Thought you were one of the big-shot inner-circle types or something? All high and mighty and in with the big-hat Inquisitor?”

Leliana shrugs. “From my understanding, the same has been said of you as well, no? And has that ever kept you from your own ‘off the record’ activities?”

That’s a fair point, but the reminder makes Sera uncomfortable. Not the ‘off the record’ shite, obviously; that part, she’s bloody proud of. The other part, though, the part where people see her as one of those big-shot inner-circle types. Because, yeah, technically she is, but it’s not as simple for her as it is for Vivienne or Dorian or whoever else; they’re something else, rich tits or big names, power and influence and shit that counts in a place like this.

Sera’s nothing like that, won’t ever be, and it makes her skin crawl to hear frigging pissbag nobles talk about her with a sniff in their voices. _‘The apostate is bad enough,’_ they say, _‘but at least he has manners! That one looks like it crawled out of an alley!’_ Never bloody mind that it’s true, never bloody mind that she’s proud of it. Never bloody mind anything she thinks or feels or _is_ , right? Just _‘Oh my! It’s looking at me!’_ and _‘What was our dear Inquisitor thinking, letting that in here?’_ Heard that piss a hundred times, she has, and works real hard to remind herself that it’s a good thing, the way they turn their noses up, that it’s what she whats. She’s not like them, never wanted to be and never will be; at the very least, she’s glad that they see that.

Still, though. Words hurt, don’t they? Always have, probably always will. Even when they shouldn’t.

“What’s your frigging point?” she asks, gravel in her voice to cover the parts of her that feel like dirt.

“I wasn’t making one,” Leliana says. “I was simply responding to yours.”

“Oh.” Not much she can say to that, really. “Well, then. Uh. Okay, I guess.”

Leliana smiles, changes the subject with her usual neatness. “In any case, the request stands. Your assistance would be appreciated, and so would your company. It is a long way to go, after all, and good travelling companions are so very rare…”

Sera flushes at that. Never been called ‘good company’ either, not even by the Inquisitor. Been called plenty of colourful things by Cassandra, though, but none of them made her blush like this. She closes her eyes for a second, forces the thought back, tries to ignore the way this whole frigging conversation is making her think about things she desperately doesn’t want to think about.

“So what is this thing, then?” she asks, changing the subject real quick and hoping that Leliana won’t hear the ache in her voice. “Must be pretty big, if you need my help.”

“Actually, I believe it’s fairly small.” Sounds like a secret, that, like something hidden between the words. Sera narrows her eyes, but doesn’t challenge. “But that’s not important at the moment. I’m not entirely certain that we’ll find it in the first place, and I’ve learned too many times not to presume anything is a sure thing. So, if you don’t mind, until the moment comes…”

She trails off, pointed and serious. Sera growls, but doesn’t fight it. Wouldn’t win, even if she did, so what’s the bloody point?

“You and your frigging secrecy,” she huffs instead. “Ask me to drop everything for you, and you don’t even say why.”

“Part of the job description, I’m afraid. It doesn’t make me many friends, as you can imagine.” Looks almost sad for a second or two, and Sera wonders why she’s saying it, why she’s opening up. “And you’re free to decline if it worries you. But should you come along, you have my word that I will inform you—”

“—right before Josie steps out of the shadows and shanks me?”

Can’t help herself, there. Because, yeah, sad face or no frigging sad face, the whole thing still smells like a trap. Sera’s been around long enough to know that withholding mission details — if this can even be called a mission, but whatever — is a first-level warning that something isn’t right.

It’s a tough spot she’s in, though, because Leliana isn’t like her usual company. Dorian and Varric and the like, normal people who don’t keep anything to themselves; Sera could sweet-talk that lot out of secrets they didn’t even know they had, trick them into showing their hands with a pouty look or a round of drinks. Easy as blinking, that, but Leliana’s got reach, and she’s really frigging scary. Trying to sweet-talk her is like playing wicked grace with a demon: stupid, and likely to end in possession or getting ripped to pieces. Either way, it’s a whole lot of mess to clean up after, and after two days without food Sera really doesn’t have the strength for piss like that.

“I can assure you,” Leliana’s saying, visibly trying not to start laughing all over again, “there will be no ‘shanking’ involved. It would be far too crude, and leave a trail anyone could follow. No, no, such a thing would never do.”

Sera blanches. “You _what_?”

And there’s that smirk again, the one that’s trying a bit too hard to look a bit too innocent. “Ahem.”

“You—”

“As for my dear Josephine…” Leliana interrupts, quite pointedly; cuts her off real clever there, and Sera decides she’s better off not knowing. “Well, let’s just say, even if she does appreciate my intentions, she’s never been one to approve of my methods.” She winks, like actually frigging _winks_ , all mischievous and flirty and shit. Makes Sera uneasy, that does, but also makes her shiver right down to her toes. “For the time being, at least, this is strictly between you and me.”

Big responsibility, that, and Sera feels the weight of it. “Does the Inquisitor know?”

“Would it matter?”

A fair question, and Sera sighs. “Guess not. But…” She glances around, suddenly afraid of people listening in, maybe Creepy eavesdropping on the chaos in her head like it does sometimes. Lowers her voice, just in case. “You sure this won’t get me in trouble? I’m in enough of that already with your lot.”

“I understand your concerns.” She’s serious now, dropping all the silliness and smirking and shit, like it’s really important that Sera believes her, that she _trusts_ her. “And should trouble happen to find us, I will claim full responsibility. You have my word.”

Sera supposes she should be a little more worried about the likelihood of such a thing being necessary than the offer; never said it wouldn’t land them in trouble, did she? And there are those warning bells again, telling her to get out while she can, but she can’t listen to them right now because she’s too busy drowning in the other part, the part where Sister frigging Nightingale looked right at her and promised to take the fall on her behalf.

Hits a nerve, it does, and for a moment or two she’s not sure why. Hard to find sense in the way she feels herself go stiff, the way she flinches, starts backing away, feels her breath coming fast and hard. It’s been a very long time since someone said something like that to her, since someone thought she was worth getting into trouble for. Should feel good, that, but it doesn’t. Too familiar, too close, and it feels too much like the last time they talked, up in the rookery, when Leliana looked all sad and thoughtful, looked at Sera like she saw everything inside her, all the dark and dirty parts she doesn’t talk about, like she saw that ragged little girl on the streets of Denerim, even just for a second, like she thought maybe she should give her a chance, a hearth—

_Piss. No. Piss._

“Sera?”

She’s balling her fists, breathing hard, hating herself for letting Sister Nightingale see her like this again. “Why?” she blurts out, because it’s all she’s got, all she can think. “Frigging… _why_?”

Leliana takes a step back. Probably thinks she’s being all supportive or something, but it just makes Sera shake harder, lights up the memories, sharpens the faded edges of things she wishes she could hate. Maybe she knows she’s doing that, doing _this_ , but it doesn’t stop her, and every part of her is soft as anything as she studies Sera’s face and thinks about the question.

“Why not?” she asks after a moment.

Sera can think of a lot of reasons. Too many. But when she tries to voice them, the words choke in her throat.

*

So, then, it’s decided.

Well, mostly decided, anyway. Leliana’s decided it, and Sera’s too much of a coward to say no. Stupid, probably, but at the end of the day she’s a low-down no-good coward, and saying no to Sister frigging Nightingale is closer to a death-wish than she’s comfortable with. As nervous as she is about ulterior motives and all that shit, Sera’s not quite ready to wake up with her throat slit for defying the Will of the Birds. She’ll take her chances with the Shadow, and see what happens.

Besides, doesn’t she always land on her feet?

Almost always, anyway.

They set off early in the morning. Earlier than morning, really. Like, before the sun’s even up. Leliana is real sneaky about the whole thing, not that Sera would expect anything else; she sticks to the shadows when she fetches her, slinking and stealthy, like she doesn’t want anyone to see her, see them. Weird, that, and stupid, because Sera knows that other people have to know what they’re doing, or at least know that they’re leaving; someone has to know, at least, because Leliana’s got supplies to last about a decade, and there’s no way people wouldn’t notice if the Inquisition’s Spymaster was away for that long.

They only bring one horse, because… well, because ‘why not?’, apparently. It’s not like this isn’t awkward enough already without riding double, is it? Leliana mumbles some vague nonsense about ‘resources’ when Sera brings it up, goes on and on about Horsemaster Dennet skinning them alive if he finds out they took his precious Inquisition mounts on some half-cocked personal mission. Sounds like an excuse, though, and Sera rather suspects she doesn’t want two horses to drag back when she’s done burying her body out in the middle of nowhere.

Leliana takes the reins, because of course she bloody does, and Sera ends up pressed tight against her back, arms wrapped around her waist to keep from slipping off. It’s about as uncomfortable as anything she’s ever done, and that’s really saying something; she’s been through a whole mess of uncomfortable shite, and very little of it could hold a candle to hanging on for dear life to the woman who may or may not be leading her to an elaborate death. Still, though, she’s set her mind on not complaining, and so she breathes in the scent of leather and birds and tries very hard not to think.

They ride like the wind. Hard, fast, and seldom stopping. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, to be honest; Leliana goes full-on with everything, from Sera’s understanding, runs hard at even simple tasks like the world’s going to end if she doesn’t. Easy enough to forget that when she’s up there in her rookery with her stupid demon birds, but just as easy to remember it when she ventures down and starts eyeballing people to death. She’s ferocious, more so than a lot of people give her credit for, and apparently she rides horses with the same cut-throat attitude that she uses to send out her assassins.

Sera’s aching all over by the time they take a break. Arms, legs, back, to say nothing of her unmentionables, and a good few places she didn’t even know she had. Feels like she’s on fire everywhere, but Leliana looks like she’s just been out for a frigging stroll. Graceful as anything she is, stepping down from the horse like she’d step out of the bloody bath, like they’re back at Skyhold all primped and perky and perfect.

Sera, meanwhile,has all the grace of a dying druffalo. She ends up sprawled on the ground,of course, bruised and battered and spitting grass because the sodding horse won’t stay still long enough for her to hop down all neat and clean. Like she’s not bloody sore enough already.

“Frigging pissbag son of a horse-shite bastard…”

Leliana turns away, probably so Sera won’t see the way she’s smirking. “Well put,” she says, and occupies herself by checking that the stupid bloody horse is doing all right.

Sera grunts, tries to right herself. Her arms are limp, almost numb from being wrapped around Leliana’s waist for so long, and they’re all but useless in holding the rest of her upright. She’s light-headed from the lack of food, too, not to mention exhausted from the early start; in short, she’s downright frigging miserable. Bad idea coming here, she thinks, but she’s not brave enough to say it aloud. And even if she was, what good would it do to have second thoughts now? Too far along to go back.

She watches, vision blurry, as Leliana leads the horse to a little stream of water. Must be knackered, poor thing, because it bow its head to drink without hesitation. Picked a good one, Leliana did; she doesn’t even need to hold the reins or anything, just lets it do its thing. She’s got a way with animals, and Sera might be jealous if she was more of an animal-friendly sort of a person herself. She’s not, though; hard to care much about any kind of animal when she’s spent so much of her life wondering how much meat she could get off them.

Cats and dogs, not so much, but Leliana’s horse is huge. Probably feed a starving orphan for a week or more. Got to think about these things when you don’t have no other choice, and Sera’s never been able to shut that part of her down.

Her stomach growls at the thought, remembering how empty it is, and she doesn’t bother to stifle the sound. Too tired to pretend she’s not starving, too sore to even try. Anyway, Leliana’s sneaky-smart; she’d know, even if Sera did hide it. Honestly, she’d probably get there even quicker that way; she can sniff out secrets faster than anyone Sera’s ever met. Better to just be open around her, and hope that the honesty throws her off.

It doesn’t. Obviously.

“Hungry?”

Sera scowls, says “No,” in a way that makes it really obvious she means _‘Yes’_.

Leliana chuckles, catches on to the words between the words. She’s completely relaxed, like they’re on a picnic or something, not halfway to wherever, and there’s a grin on her face as she reaches into one of her countless pouches and pulls out a packet of rations. Horrible things, they are, but Leliana studies them like they’re ancient magics or some such shite.

“Here,” she says, and tosses the packet over.

Sera catches the stupid thing, chucks it on the ground without even looking at it. “No, thanks.”

 _Not good enough,_ she thinks, shaky and cold. Doesn’t mean the rations; they’re just fine. Tasteless, yeah, but they do the job as good as anything. It’s her she means; _she’s_ not good enough.

Only been three days, right? Just three stupid days, and already she’s too weak to hold herself upright. Doesn’t matter that she’s spent half the day riding double on a stupid horse, doesn’t matter that anyone would be exhausted after that. Doesn’t matter, because she’s supposed to be better. Needs to be better. Has to be. She used to be able to go a week without, didn’t she? A week and more, and still didn’t complain. Not any more. Not since the bloody Inquisition. Now, all of a sudden, she’s starving her bony little arse off after just a couple of days. No time at all, that, and yet she’s whining and whimpering like a kid, dizzy and tired and fighting with everything she has not to rip that stupid packet to shreds and stuff her face with those tasteless crappy rations.

Weak. Weak and stupid and _not frigging good enough_. Not—

“Sera.”

Leliana’s back at her side now. When did that happen? The horse is still lapping happily at the stream, and apparently she trusts him not to run off because she’s right here, crouched down next to Sera, entirely too close for something so sudden. She’s got a hand on her shoulder, touching her without permission just like Josephine did, but it doesn’t feel so shitty when it’s Leliana, doesn’t feel so much like an invasion. Hard for anything to feel that way when they’ve spent the best part of a day pressed up against each other in awkward places.

“What?” Sera snaps. Lets the contact linger for a moment, then pulls away.

Leliana doesn’t say anything for a while; she just watches her, studying, like she’s trying to figure out what angle to take, the best way to push without getting an arrow in the face. She’s no diplomat, not like Milady Josie, but maybe some of that fancy-pants ambassadorial shite is rubbing off on her a bit, because she takes a moment to think it through, to think _Sera_ through, takes a moment to assess her weaknesses before she strikes.

Makes Sera feel weird, that does. She’s not sure whether to be happy because apparently she’s worth that much or just embarrassed because apparently she’s such a damn mess that even Super Secret Spymaster Sister Nightingale has to stop and think for a minute before talking to her. Weird to feel worthwhile and worthless at the same time. 

“We have a long way yet to go,” Leliana says, at long last. “It wouldn’t do either of us any good if you fainted away.”

“Wasn’t planning on fainting,” Sera gripes, petulant because it’s easy.

“I’d be rather concerned if you were. But even the best of plans can find themselves mislaid, no? Especially if we do not take care of ourselves.” So frigging condescending, the way she talks down to her, but it doesn’t make Sera bristle like she expects. “Sera, these eating habits of yours…”

Sera kicks the discarded rations packet, hates it for giving her away, like she wasn’t doing a brilliant enough job of that all by herself. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Perhaps you’d like me to enlighten you?”

Sneaky, that, and she bloody knows it. Because, yeah, of course Sera won’t let that happen. Embarrassing enough, the way she feels, the stupid shit she does for the sake of surviving, of being scared, everything she can’t explain to people who’ve never been there. Embarrassing enough that she still feels that way even though she knows she doesn’t have to. Embarrassing enough that she still thinks it, still lives it every frigging second, but to _hear_ it? To hear someone else say it, someone who doesn’t understand, some fancy Orlesian tit who could never bloody understand, to hear someone like that turn it all into stupid words, stupid facts? No way she’d ever let that happen.

And, yeah, of course she frigging knows it. Leliana. She knows how upsetting this shit is, knows that Sera can’t bear to listen, can’t bear to hear her own life turned around and turned into something small and shitty, knows that she’ll die before she’ll let her do that. Of course she bloody knows, because she’s Sister frigging Nightingale and she knows everything.

“Don’t you frigging dare.” She’s petulant, yeah, and angry too, but who wouldn’t be? Hates being manipulated, but hates the alternative even more, so what’s she supposed to do? “That shit’s mine, not yours. You keep your frigging ‘enlightenment’ to yourself.”

“Ordinarily, I’d be glad to,” Leliana says, and there’s a weird kind of sadness in her voice, like it’s hurting her to look at Sera, to see her, nearly as much as it’s hurting Sera to be seen. “But I’d rather not have to explain to the Inquisitor that I let you perish halfway between Skyhold and—”

She cuts herself off real fast. Telling, that, and Sera can use it.

“Yeah?” she presses, eyes narrowed. “Between Skyhold and _where_? You feel like letting me in on that one yet?”

Leliana opens her mouth, like she wants to say something stupid, then sighs and shakes her head. “Not yet, no.”

“Right. So how about you back off too, yeah? You don’t get to keep your secrets then spill all mine. You hear?”

Leliana sighs, but doesn’t say anything else for a long time. Should probably consider that a victory, yeah? She stops looking at Sera too, like that’s it, a line drawn under everything; Sera knows better, of course, but it helps her to unclench a little when Leliana turns her attention back to the stupid horse, watching it drink, fingers flexing in their gloves like she’s imagining the feel of the reins, like she’s itching to get back on the road already.

Sera’s itching a little too. Clenches her jaw, then her fists, restless and a little angry, yanks up handfuls of grass then tosses them away just to give her fingers something to do.

Leliana doesn’t comment, but she does lean over. Leans right the way over, as it goes, across Sera’s whole body. She’s going after the discarded rations, obviously, but the angle makes her shoulder brush against Sera’s tits in a way that can’t possibly be accidental. Never does anything by accident, her, and of course it throws Sera right off-guard. Definitely deliberate, and sneaky as piss.

“Well, then,” she says, straightening up real slow, “I see no sense in letting them go to waste, hm?”

Sera closes her eyes, tries to keep her hands from shaking, her head from spinning. Tells herself it’s the hunger that’s making her dizzy, and not other things. “Do what you like,” she huffs. “I’m not your frigging mum.”

Leliana chuckles. “I should hope not.”

Stings, though, doesn’t it? The word, the memory. Only had one for five minutes, a mother, and it still hurts like fuck, saying it out loud all these years later. Makes her jaw ache, and her chest, burns like salt behind her eyes. Hurts in every part of her, deeper and more brutal than her aching muscles. Real pain, this, the kind that doesn’t disappear with a good stretch. She wants to cry, wants to shout and scream and throw shit, wants to own the things she’s feeling, the moment of rage. Wants to, yeah, but there’s nothing here to throw and crying or screaming would only prove Leliana’s point somehow. Prove that she does know, that she does see, that she frigging _understands_. And Sera’s not even close to ready for that.

So, instead, she settles for swearing. “Piss!” and “Shite!” clenched out through gritted teeth, rattling in her throat, and it should feel good, should feel like getting it out, or at least getting some of it out, but it doesn’t.

Leliana touches her hand, takes great care not to look at her. “Such language, Sera.”

That hurts too. Like, _really_ hurts. And she knows, she has to know, because she wouldn’t have frigging said it if she didn’t. She’s never said anything like that before, has she? Sera’s turned the air blue with her foul mouth a thousand times, and no-one’s ever said anything like that before. Well, Milady Josie, yeah, but no-one else, and definitely not Leliana; she’s probably got a dictionary full of her own bloody curse-words, maybe got a few that Sera herself doesn’t know, and she wouldn’t… she frigging _wouldn’t_. Would never say _‘language, Sera’_ or _‘play nice, Sera’_ , not if she didn’t know, like really properly _know_ , if she didn’t feel the pain cracking like a lash through the word, the name, the memory. She wouldn’t be telling her off like it’s her place, wouldn’t be looking away like she wants her face in just the right kind of shadow, wouldn’t pitch her voice so much like… like…

“Piss,” she whispers again, shaking. “Frigging… frigging…”

Leliana’s gloves are worn against her hand, the leather heavy and cool across her knuckles. It hurts in a different way, the friction and the tension and the contact, but it’s not the kind of pain she’d expect, not the kind she can handle. Hurts, like it hurts to be here. Hurts like all the parts of Sera she’ll never put into words, and before she has a chance to flinch away, tell Leliana to back off, to leave her alone, tell her that she’s not her mother either, before she has a chance to say anything at all, Leliana’s doing it all by herself.

She leans back, just like that. Tears open the packet of rations. Hands one over, eyes still on the horse.

“Eat,” she says.

It’s not a command, not even close, but it’s easier to think of it like one. Easier to imagine Leliana’s voice coming out like Cullen’s, like Milady Josie’s, all anger and disdain and judgement, all instruction and order and Inquisition shite. Easier to imagine it’s business than hear what it really is, soft and sweet and thoughtful, all heart and hearth and so much hurt.

Sera hates those things, hates them all the more right now, laid open as she is, exposed and feeling awful about everything she’s ever been. She doesn’t want Leliana to see her like that, doesn’t want her to see something that needs soft words, sweet gestures, thoughtfulness. Doesn’t want her to see that Sera aches sometimes for a hearth that has a heart. She’d sooner be back in her room at the tavern, sooner be getting into trouble of her own making, or glaring up at Milady Josie and telling her to go stuff her frigging nobles and their frigging desserts. She’d sooner be anywhere in Thedas, anywhere but here, feeling anything but this.

“Piss off,” she whispers, but it’s so futile, so pathetic, she might as well not be talking at all.

At long last, Leliana turns. Looks Sera right in the face, right at her, and her eyes are so bright, so beautiful, so frigging _impossible_ ; the sight of her is like nothing Sera’s ever seen in her life.

“Eat.”

Sera hunches forwards, face in shadow to hide the tears, and does as she’s told.

*

They ride on.

Hours on hours on hours, riding without a word. Leliana is tense and thoughtful, driving the horse on like they’ve got demons on their tail, and Sera’s clinging to her like both their lives depend on it, drowning in the smell of leather and feathers. Weird, that, like the scent of bird is woven into her clothing or something, as intimate and strong as sweat on skin. They’re leagues from Skyhold now, and getting farther by the second, but when she’s smooshed up against her back like this, all close and tight and breathing in every part of her, it smells so much like the stupid rookery that she almost forgets where they are.

They ride right through the first night, and the second day, stopping once or twice to let the horse rest a bit and take water. Leliana’s tough as nails every time; she sticks to Sera’s side like a prank gone wrong, stays close and makes sure she eats proper, makes sure she stretches out her stupid tired muscles, makes sure she doesn’t sit too still or stand too awkwardly, makes sure she does everything right.

It’s suffocating, the way she breathes down Sera’s neck, the way she insists on doing everything ‘properly’, the way she makes it happen without ever making it a demand. Frustrating, the way Sera finds herself obeying despite her best efforts, and more frustrating still the way it makes her chest ache, makes the tears come, makes her feel like a ragged little girl all over again.

At the end of the second day, they set up camp for the first time. Proper camp, the staying-all-night kind. There’s nothing in any direction as far as the eye can see, and Leliana says that makes it the perfect place. Says that being in the middle of nowhere makes them _safe_.

Sera doesn’t feel safe at all. She doesn’t like being exposed like this, being out in the open with so much emptiness on all sides. Hates it when she can’t see the nearest city, when there’s nothing to mark their location by, nothing to look at, keep her eye on. Even the horizon looks empty from here, flat straight lines stretching out in all directions, and what good is that when she’s straining her eyes for a landmark? She feels stripped down and raw, like she’s standing naked in front of a million noble pricks, only worse because in all honesty she probably wouldn’t mind that. Be fun, giving an eyeful to all those fancy tits, and this is definitely not fun. No fancy nothing here. No people, no places, nothing at all.

 _Nothing_.

Thinking about it makes her feel edgy, panicky. She hugs her knees to her chest, biting back whimpers as she watches Leliana set up the tent. Doesn’t offer to help, and Leliana doesn’t ask; maybe she notices the way she’s shaking, or maybe she just doesn’t feel like exposing herself to a litany of curses. Either way, she seems happy enough to work on her own.

She crosses back to Sera’s side when she’s done, leathers cracking when she touches her arm. Keeps her voice light and easy when she says, “I hope you don’t snore.”

Sera shrugs. She appreciates the gesture, the feint at distracting her, though of course she’d never admit it out loud. “Never had no complaints,” she mutters.

“Good enough.” Leliana smiles, but it looks a little forced. “I can’t make any such promises, I’m afraid. It’s been quite some time since I spent the night with anyone.”

Sera rolls her eyes at the posturing. “Suppose I should be all honoured and shit?” She shivers, hugs herself a little harder. “Just don’t steal the covers, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She nudges Sera’s shoulder, eyes laughing even as her mouth draws into a thin sad line. Weird, the way she looks bright and miserable at the same time. It’s like she thinks she’s being playful or fun or something, but knows deep down that she’s not, that it’s not working, that it’s probably just making everything worse. She’s trying too hard, putting in too much effort to look effortless, and it makes Sera uncomfortable.

Gives up quick enough, Leliana does, and sweeps to her feet. Pats Sera on the shoulder, tells her to make a fire, and stalks off into the nothing to hunt something big and mean for dinner.

Sera spits, swearing under her breath when she’s gone, and stubs her toes kicking the ground. Hates being told what to do, hates when she can’t fight back. No-one would be stupid enough to disobey the Nightingale, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. Hates how helpless she is, too, hates that it still doesn’t come easily to her even though it’s been that way all her life. Hates the way Leliana brings it out in her so easily, hates how her words cut deeper than other people’s.

A command from Cullen, for example, is easy. She’d stick out her tongue, laugh and run away, and he’d shout curses after her but give up in the end. Not worth it, he’d think, and she’d tell herself that that’s just fine. She’s not his kind of people, anyway, and wouldn’t want to be. It’s okay to be worthless when the alternative is being a scowling jackboot.

A demand from Milady Josie, same thing; she’s got teeth, sure, but she doesn’t bite, and that’s half the challenge gone, even if she is scary-good at making them do other things. Turns them up into a smile, pulls them back when she snarls, gets the pisshead nobles to eat right out of her hands with the shit she whispers through them. Sweet lies, bitter warnings, she’s got them all. Sera’s not scared of her, not at all, but she plays people like her real easy. Like she did back in the tavern, played Sera against herself, confusing her and cutting down her defences. It’s all just stupid ambassador’s bullshit, of course, but it cut real close, and it made Sera want to turn her precious kitchens upside-down again just to spite her.

Leliana’s not like either of them. Not a prissy sharp-tongued ambassador, not a bull-headed jackboot; she’s something apart from anyone Sera’s ever known. Makes her feel things in her chest, makes her stomach go tight, makes her remember things she doesn’t want to. Makes her go all warm inside, yeah, but kind of cold at the same time, like the things she feels and the things she thinks aren’t the same, like they want to be but they’re too scared. Makes her feel like all of her is scared, honestly, like she’s small and worthless.

Painful, that, sometimes. Sometimes, yeah, like when Leliana actually takes the time to look at her when she tells her to do something, like when she does that thing with her face, makes every part of her soft and sort of sad, the way she transforms herself for Sera’s benefit. It makes Sera’s chest spasm, ribs squeezing her lungs until she can’t breathe at all. Like when her eyes get all bright-but-shadowy, like she’s got warm-cold memories of her own, like she knows a few dark corners too. Like they’re not so different as Sera tells herself, like that’s even possible.

It hurts, the way she smiles with her eyes but not with her mouth, the way she opens up with one thing but hides a dozen others, the way she talks to her, looks at her, the way she becomes something different with her. It hurts. It really frigging _hurts_ … and Maker, it makes her feel so small.

She swallows down the thoughts, though. Good at that, swallowing shit, choking down the stuff that no-one else will touch. Bad food, good liquor, the dreams that linger. No different, this, and she forces it down just like she does with all those things, drives it into the back of her head, blocks it out as best she can, and starts on Leliana’s stupid fire.

They eat in silence. Leliana’s killed some giant reptile-looking thing, and she’s looking ridiculously pleased with herself as she drags it back; she skins it herself, cooks it over the fire, and Sera’s frankly too disturbed by the thing to even ask what it is. Could be poisonous for all she knows, but Leliana’s happy enough to rip into it like candy, so what’s the harm?

Besides, she’s ravenous. No sense keeping up appearances with the food thing, now, is there? No point in starting from zero again now that Leliana’s gotten all insistent with her. Wouldn’t let her, for a start, and besides she needs to keep her strength up. Needs everything she can get just to stay upright on that stupid frigging horse, and as stubborn as she is, she knows better than to put herself in danger just to prove some bloody point. No, best to just wait until she’s back at Skyhold, start the whole thing over fresh when she knows it’s safe, when she’s alone again and not afraid of some sneaky Spymaster sticking her with a sad look.

She offers to take first watch, but Leliana laughs at the idea like it’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

“Trust me,” she says, “if anything out there is foolish enough to come after us, we’ll know.”

Sera blinks, confusion overriding the irritation for a moment or two. “How?”

Leliana, of course, doesn’t answer. That’d be too bloody polite, wouldn’t it? No, she just laughs again, ruffles Sera’s hair like she’s something adorable, and swings to her feet. And that’s it, innit? That’s the end of it, and once again Sera doesn’t deserve to know anything. Makes her angry, a little, but not as much as she thinks it should.

Weird, she thinks, the way Leliana keeps doing shit like that, all condescending and patronising and whatever else, and the way that Sera never quite manages to yell at her for it. She tries to shake it off, the uneasy feeling it gives her, and tosses the lizard-thing’s bones onto the fire just to give her hands something to do. The whole thing hisses and spits, the flames flaring way too high for a second or two, then sputters out completely, like it was never there at all. Sera watches it, scowls at the ashes, then stomps on them a little more forcefully than she needs to. Got to make sure it’s properly dead, after all, and if she takes a little vindictive pleasure in the violence, then where’s the harm in that? Better than bashing someone’s head in, innit?

Leliana’s already out of her armour by the time she skulks into the tent, and Sera’s mouth goes dry at the sight of her. She’s kept her smalls on, thank Andraste, but it still doesn’t leave much to the imagination. That awful too-small feeling she’s been having rears up again inside her chest, more powerful than before. She turns her face away, flushing furiously and tries not to think about how tiny she feels.

Leliana laughs again. Sounds softer in the quiet tent, but it still makes Sera bristle. “Come now,” she says. “Surely this is nothing you haven’t seen before?”

“Not…” But her voice cracks. _Stupid_ , she thinks, and wants to cry. “Right. Sure. Whatever.”

She strips down as well, stubborn and angry, like she’s making a point or something, like it means something. It doesn’t, obviously, and Leliana doesn’t give a nug’s arse what she does or how she’s dressed, but it feels like she has something to prove, like maybe she needs to remind herself that she’s here too that she’s fully grown and not nearly as small or young as she feels; her body is strong and sinewy too, innit? She’s earned the marks that stand out against the skin.

Stupid, that. Stupid and childish, just like she is, and of course her body looks nothing like Leliana’s.

They curl up close together, bodies all smooshed in places just like on the horse. There’s only one bedroll, only one blanket, and between the two of them it’s more than a tight squeeze. Saves space, Leliana insists, like that justifies the discomfort, like sense and logic is any consolation for how squished up they are. Useful for generating warmth, she says too, or something like that. Sera’s not sure she believes that shite, but she’s past the point of caring, so she nods and shrugs and hopes that’s the end of it. Wraps her arms around Leliana’s waist, presses her face between her shoulderblades and pretends that they’re still out there, still on the horse, imagines that she’ll fall and break her neck if she doesn’t hold on tight.

It doesn’t really work, but at least it keeps her from thinking about other things.

“Comfortable?”

Leliana’s voice is weird, raspy and echoing in the midnight silence. Her hair tickles Sera’s face, and the brush of skin against skin in unexpected places sets her nerves on fire. Maybe she’s right about the heat, though, because there’s a kind of warmth in having her so close, and the shape of her body is familiar in a way that’s both painful and comforting. Makes her itchy, breathless, and she desperately wishes that she didn’t know why.

“Fine. Good. Yeah.” She swallows hard, and closes her eyes. Imagines dirt kicked up in her eyes, grit and dust under her clothes, imagines that she’s still bouncing and jostling on the back of that stupid horse, motion-sick and miserable and aching all over. Imagines anything but _this_. “Fine.”

“Good.” Leliana swallows too; Sera can feel it. “Sleep well, yes? I want to set out early tomorrow.”

Easier said than done, though, innit? The sleeping thing, not the early start.

She doesn’t toss and turn like she would in her room at the tavern, though that’s more out of respect to Leliana than anything else. Hard enough to share a bedroll for the first time in years, and Sera doesn’t want to make it harder on her by fidgeting all night long. Still, though, it’s not easy to hold herself still, to keep her arms locked around Leliana’s waist, stiff and steady. Her head’s spinning, too many thoughts she doesn’t want churning around inside of her, and it’s really hard to focus on… well, on not focusing, honestly. Hard to breathe, too, when Leliana’s so peaceful; she breathes like it’s easy, all low and rhythmic. Sera wishes she could be like that, just close her eyes and drift off, like they’re not exposed out here, like there’s nothing weird about the way they’re pressed together, sharing horses and bedrolls and blankets like they’re more than what they are, like they’re—

“ _Piss_.”

Leliana’s awake instantly. Of course she is, and Sera catches the glint of _something_ in her eyes as she turns to face her, mouth half-open in a question. “Sera?”

“Nothing,” she says.

It comes out weird. Weird, like she feels, all urgent and hopeless and very squeaky. Too fast, for sure, and she knows it’ll never convince someone as clever as Leliana. Can’t even convince herself, to be honest, so what chance does she have of convincing the super-sneaky Spymaster of Skyhold? Leliana’s never fooled, not by anything, least of all a worthless little nothing like Sera. Never worked before, and the chances of it working now are less than bloody zero. Got to do better, she thinks. Got to frigging _be_ better.

She swallows again, braces herself, scrambles for a change of subject, and hates herself when she blurts out, “So…”

Leliana’s lips twitch against her cheek. “Hm?”

And of course she blurts out the first thing she thinks of, the stupidest thing, the thing she knows will get her in trouble. Of course she does, because that’s just the kind of idiot she is.

“…you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”

Leliana deflates. Sighs, sort of, but it’s weird the way she does it. Her body doesn’t move at all, not even her chest; it’s a heavy sound, but she’s completely still all over, like she’s not really breathing at all, like it’s even possible to sigh and not breathe. Creepy, unnatural. It’s like the sound is hers, but she’s not really a part of it.

“Sera…”

“Don’t say it like that!” She feels herself start to tremble, light-headed all over again but this time it has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion. “Don’t talk down to me! I’m not stupid! I’m not some…”

But that’s the thing, innit? She _is_.

At least, she is right now. She’s not the smart-mouthed archer, not the grinning rogue who cracks lewd jokes and drinks her own weight in cheap booze, not the Inquisition’s wildcard or the Inquisitor’s silly prankster friend. Not here, not now. Here, now, she’s _her_ , that scrawny young thing, the ragged little girl curled up in alleys, the one she hates so much. She doesn’t know anything about anything, does she? Only the shadows and the dark corners, the hiding places and the rich bastards with stuff worth stealing. She doesn’t know much, but she knows how to survive, and that should be enough, should make her worth something, but it doesn’t.

Leliana shifts beside her. Rolls over a little more until they’re facing each other completely, until they’re touching in strange places, soft curves and hard angles, and Sera feels so shaky; she wants to run away, wants to find some safe shadow to hide in, wants to pretend that she’s back on the streets cowering from idiots who’d chain her up for breathing, curled up small so no-one sees her. Wants to pretend she’s there, not here, but Leliana won’t let her run and she sure as shit won’t let her hide. She won’t even let her look away, just keeps those beautiful bright eyes locked on Sera’s like she’s seeing all the secrets of the universe inside her.

“You’re right,” she says, like that’s a secret too. “I’m sorry.”

Sera blinks, tries to shake off the part of her that’s still mapping out the dark corners. “You what?”

“Come now. Surely those pretty ears of yours aren’t just for decoration.” Sera flushes again, angry this time, but Leliana presses on before she has a chance to twist the fury into something destructive. “You were right, and so I apologised. You agreed to take this trip with me, willingly and without question. That is worthy of respect, no?”

“Bloody right,” Sera says. Her teeth are chattering. “So tell me, yeah?”

Leliana actually pales at that. Or, well, looks a little uncomfortable, anyway. That’s about as close to going proper pale as Sera will probably ever see in her. Never seen even this much before, in fact, and it takes her so completely by surprise that she almost convinces herself she’s not actually seeing it at all. Got to be a trick of the light, innit? Or, well, a trick of the dark, anyway.

When Leliana finally does move, it’s to roll over onto her back. Deliberate, that, definitely; makes it so Sera can’t drown in her eyes, can’t see the way they darken.

“You won’t like it,” she says, very quietly.

Sera kind of suspected that already, to be honest, and it doesn’t help at all to hear it. “So?” she snaps, hoping she sounds stronger than she is. “Always better to be honest, innit? Always better to be straight and honest and… and…” She can feel herself slipping, feel the memories rising up, sharp and sour, and it’s more than she can do to silence them this time. “Had enough of sweet-tasting lies. Only make you sick in the end.”

Leliana must know that she’s not talking about her, not talking about _this_ , that she’s not even here right now. She’s not even bloody looking at her, but of course she still knows; she knows everything, doesn’t she? It makes Sera angry, furious that she can’t fight this, can’t rise above Leliana and the way she sees everything even when she’s not looking. It makes her angry, but it’s hard to make anger into something useful when she still feels so small and stupid, so much like that ragged little girl huddled in dark corners, hiding and clutching a belly stuffed full of sickly lies.

After a long, painful moment, Leliana rolls over again. Pulls Sera in real close, real tight. Holds her until she can barely breathe, holds her until her face is pressed against bare collarbones, until her nose is full with the smell of birds, of feathers and leathers, until she can’t hide from the present, from the truth, from secrets and hidden truths.

 _Leliana_. Whispers the name over and over again in her head, lets it ground her.

Sister Nightingale. Skyhold’s Spymaster, the Shadow of Birds, all that shit. Strong and scary, stealthy and serious and steady. This Leliana, the one here now, not the smiling lay-sister she might have been a million years ago. She has to remember that, Sera does, has to keep the difference at the front of her mind, has to see them both to know which is which, to remember who she is, who they both are, to recognise the things they became through the people they used to be.

Sera. Stupid, small, scared, but none of those things are _now_. She has to remember that, has to remember that she’s not some ragged little girl, that Leliana isn’t some smiling lay-sister, that they’re both here and them and _now_ and—

—and all it takes is one word for the whole thing to fall apart.

One word. That’s it. One worthless wasteful word, and it doesn’t matter who she is now, doesn’t matter what she’s worked so hard to become, doesn’t matter what she’s been through to get here. One stupid frigging word and none of that shit matters at all. One word, and she’s small and stupid and scared all over again. One word, and suddenly that’s all she is, all she ever was, all she’ll ever be for the rest of her worthless life.

And there’s Leliana, skin soft and eyes sad, voice trembling like she can feel all that, like she knows what she’s doing, knows the power a word can have. Leliana, looking at her like she feels the pain as well, like she feels it even before she says it, knows that this will break her, that one stupid frigging word will shatter everything Sera is, like she bloody _knows_ all that, but she does it anyway, because she has to, because small scared stupid little Sera had to go and bloody ask.

“ _Denerim_ ,” she whispers, a plea and an apology and a thousand other things all at once. “We’re going to Denerim.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

*

“You _what_?”

Probably not exactly the most erudite she’s ever been, that, but whatever. Not like anyone’s expecting her to be after a boot to the head like that.

Honestly, she’s mostly just kicking herself for being so bloody stupid. Should’ve seen it coming right from the beginning, shouldn’t she? Should’ve bloody known. The evasion, the funny looks, the way Leliana kept softening for no apparent reason. All of it pointed right here, and Sera’s a bloody idiot for not thinking the word long before she heard it.

Denerim. Fucking _Denerim_ , with its dark corners and bad memories and all the rest. Of course that’s where they’re going, and of course that’s why Leliana brought her here. Why else would she have picked Sera? Should’ve seen the holes in it when she said she’d make ‘good company’. No-one thinks that about her. Frigging no-one.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana says, like that even begins to cover it. “I was concerned you might refuse to come if you knew.”

She sits up, all the way, and Sera grabs the blanket where it falls about her waist. She’s exposed, Leliana is, but she doesn’t seem to care. Sera can see her skin pricking against the cold, can see the marks and blemishes in the moonlight; she can see everything, all the space and skin and secrets, but Leliana doesn’t seem to care at all. Doesn’t need the cover, does she? She’s got nothing to hide now.

Sera does, though. Stupid kid, ragged little girl, and she clings to that stupid frayed blanket like it can cover over all the things she’s feeling, the anger and the self-loathing, all those things that should be radiating out instead of festering and turning to poison in her blood. Clings to the stupid blanket because it’s the only thing that might protect her from all those dark thoughts.

“Don’t give me much credit, then, do you?” she snaps.

But then, why would she? Scared of everything, Sera is; she’s known for it. No sense running her mouth off about her fortitude when half of bloody Thedas has seen her go white at the mention of a demon. 

“Well…”

“Piss on ‘well’. Of course I would’ve bloody come. Said you needed me, yeah?”

Actually looks ashamed there, for a second or two, Leliana does. “Well, yes. But…”

“Then that’s it, innit? Should be, anyway. You can stick your ‘but’ where the sun don’t shine.”

Crude, yeah, but it’s not like Leliana doesn’t deserve it. Sera grits her teeth, forces back the urge to pull the blanket right over her head, hide herself away completely. Not the same, is it? A blanket isn’t a dark corner, a shadowy space where no-one can get in. It’s not a frigging alley, is it? Just some stupid cloth that any old whoever can just lunge in and tear away. Not safe at all.

“As you wish,” Leliana says, but it’s not good enough.

“I’d’ve come.” Sounds way more hurt than angry, that does, so she balls her fists to remind herself which one’s more important. “Stupid, sure, but I would’ve. Part of the frigging Inquisition, aren’t I? Meant to be, anyway. That’s supposed to bloody mean something. Supposed to…”

But it doesn’t. Not really. And she can’t exactly blame Leliana for that, because it’s all on her. She’s the one who won’t let it mean anything, the one who’s scared to.

She’s one of them, sure, but not really _one_ of them. She’s not like the others, Dorian and Madame Viv or even Bull with his big bad mercenary band and whatever. They’ve all got stuff they can bring to that stupid old table, influence or contacts or fireballs or raw bloody muscle, but all Sera’s got is a beat-up bow, a couple of Friends, and a head full of hate. She’s nothing, and she’s so frigging terrified that they’ll realise it sooner rather than later, that the Inquisitor will wake up one morning and figure out that she’s just taking up space, or else Milady Josie will decide she’s pissed off one too many nobles and kick her out on principle. Either way, can’t think about it. Can’t think of herself as _part_ of this Inquisition thing, because that’s dangerously close to getting comfortable.

And, yeah. That’s why she’s doing all this shit in the first place, innit? Acting out, stealing and eating and hiding, going hungry for days and days so she doesn’t forget what it means to be hungry like that. Reminding herself every day where she came from — not just bloody Denerim, but the _streets_ — because she knows that one day they’ll see through her, and then it’ll all be gone. Part of the frigging Inquisition. Sure, for now. But how long can shit like that really last?

“Sera…”

Hates that. The sound of her name, the way they say it. Not just Leliana, but all of them, everyone. She’s heard the way they say _Vivienne_ , like even just the name is something to be feared, or _Varric_ , like they’re fawning at his feet before he even says anything. Not like that with her, though, not like that with _Sera_. It’s like a bad word, the way they spit it, like it’s something to be ashamed of, like she’s Skyhold’s dirty little secret, the one they only mention when they have to.

Part of the Inquisition. Yeah, right.

“Shut it,” she hears herself say, cutting off the sound of her name before it cuts her down. “You think I care?”

“I think—”

“Well, I don’t! Don’t give a piss about bloody frigging Denerim. Don’t give a frigging _piss_. Got out of there once, didn’t I? Get out again, if I have to. And again and again and again. So if you think for one frigging second that you can just chuck me back there like last week’s rubbish—”

“Sera!” She sounds horrified, like proper horrified, and Sera might be proud of that if she wasn’t so upset.

“What?” Can’t stop now. Bloody _won’t_. “You gonna tell me that’s not what this is really about? You and Milady Josie, bet you got it all planned out. Toss me back to stupid shitty Denerim, and no-one’ll be any the wiser. Who’d miss the stupid elf? Doesn’t even do anything, right? Nobody’d even care, right?”

She bites her lip, hard enough to bleed a little, because she has to draw someone’s blood and if it’s not her own, it’ll damn well be Leliana’s. Leliana watches, winces, whispers her name like one of her secrets. “ _Sera_ ,” like it bloody means something.

“You could’ve told me,” she says, ignoring her. “Would’ve still gone, if you’d just…” Shakes her head, bites down a little harder. “Didn’t need to do all this stupid shit. Didn’t need to bring me out here, waste time and horses and food and everything else. Could’ve just told me to piss off, I’d’ve done it. Wouldn’t have kicked up a fuss or nothing. You know I wouldn’t. If you’d… if you’d just… frigging…”

Has to stop, then, because she can’t talk and fight tears at the same time. Leliana’s staring at her, all slack-jawed and disbelieving, and Sera wants nothing more than to lash out with her fists, wipe that look off her face, but her hands won’t stop shaking.

“Oh, Sera,” she sighs, then shakes her head like this is the saddest shit she’s ever heard in her whole frigging life. “Do you really think so little of us?”

Sera swallows, bares her teeth. Has to look the part, angry and offended and whatever, has to look like she can hold this fight. “Bound to happen eventually, right?” she says, and tries to ignore how much it stings to say it aloud. “Just makes sense that it’d be now. I mean, you can’t expect me to buy all this bullshit about secret stealth missions to steal some shit from some mysterious whatever? No-one’s that bloody stupid, right? Not even… not even…”

… _not even me_.

Evidence kind of going the other way, though, innit? She’s here, isn’t she? Whether she knew it or not, whether she was that bloody stupid or just desperate to believe she was worth something, still the end result is the same: she’s still bloody _here_. Whatever the reason, she came along willingly; it’s going to happen, and she’s going to let it. Because, yeah, apparently she _is_ that stupid. More stupid than worthless, even; this whole bloody mess was inevitable from the very beginning, and as angry as she is just now, there’s no-one but herself to blame. Should have quit ages ago. After Therinfal, after Haven, after…

Leliana swears, in Orlesian or some fancy language. Sera doesn’t recognise the words, but she could pick out a sweary-voice from a thousand leagues away.

“What?” she snaps. “Get too close, did I? Ruin your fun by figuring it out too early?”

Leliana shakes her head, and when she talks it’s to herself. “She was right. I should have listened to her. I…”

Sera doesn’t need to ask. Obvious as anything, piss like this. “Milady Josie.”

“I… yes.”

“Course it was.” Shakes her head, disgust and just a hint of hurt. “Had to be her idea, didn’t it? You’re well clever, you are; you’d never come up with something as stupid as this by yourself.” Not much of a compliment, that, but Leliana seems to take it like one. “Had to come from her. Bloody had to. Milady Josie, with her stupid fancy frills and her stupid posh-talking bullshit. Never does anything the smart way, her. Never does anything straight.”

“She does enjoy taking the scenic route, yes.”

It’s supposed to lighten the moment or something, Sera supposes, but it doesn’t. “Shut it. you. You said she wasn’t part of this. You said—”

“I said she disapproves of my methods. And she does.” Leliana sighs, all regretful and shit, like that’ll help either of them now. “She warned me about this. She said you would take it badly if I did things my way. She begged me to be honest with you from the beginning, but I… I had to have my secrets.”

Sera feels sick. Sharp, inexplicable. She swallows it down, bites her tongue. “Piss on you and your secrets. Piss on all of you.”

Leliana bows her head, like she’s taking a blow or something, like Sera could ever hurt her with worthless words. “Sera, you are leaping to conclusions. Irrational ones, at that.” Sera bristles, annoyed, and Leliana rushes on before she can interrupt. “I promise you, I have not lied. At least, not in the way you think.”

“Right. Because this isn’t sketchy at all. All in my head, innit?”

“Not at all. I completely understand why you’d be upset. But if you’d only listen to me…” Sera growls, but shrugs at her to continue. No harm in hearing her out, she supposes and it’s not like either of them could go anywhere until the morning anyway. “I did not deceive you, Sera. Our mission is exactly as I laid it out for you, as are my reasons for wanting your company. I was completely sincere in all of that, I promise you. I merely… neglected to mention our destination.”

She trails off, sighing. She looks so guilty, so regretful; Sera aches to believe her, really _aches_ with everything in her. So hard to believe anything now, though, innit? So hard to trust someone like Leliana, who makes a living out of not being trusted, not being trustworthy. She hides in the shadows just like Sera does, skulks in the dark places, and Sera can’t trust her any more than she’d trust herself. Besides, she hates secrets; even worse than frigging lies, they are, and the omission leaves an acid taste in her mouth, makes her breath come hard.

“Why?” she blurts out. “Didn’t you think I deserved to know?”

“Of course you did.” She turns her face away as she says, though. “Sera, I did not want to hurt you. Quite the contrary, in fact: I was trying to protect you.”

That’s about the stupidest thing Sera’s ever heard, and she’s not shy about saying so. “From what?” she cries. “A bloody city? The bloody _name_ of a city?” She throws up her arms, doesn’t even care that there’s no room. “You think I’m so frigging touched I can’t even handle a frigging name?”

She hates the way she sounds, all squeaky and urgent and small, hates that it’s just reinforcing Leliana’s bloody point. Makes it sound like she’s right, like stupid worthless Sera really can’t handle a frigging name, like she can’t handle the memories it dredges up. It’s not true, but how can she expect Leliana to believe that when she sounds like a scared little kid?

_Denerim_. Not so scary. It’s just a name, just a bloody word, and she’s not the girl she was when she left that place. She’s faced real shit, proper scary shit; still faces it, in fact, every bloody day. Scared as shit, sure; who wouldn’t be? But it doesn’t bloody stop her, does it? Demons, mages and templars, Venatori, red lyrium, and Maker only knows what else; she grits her teeth and she gets shit done because she bloody has to. Done all of that, faced everything the frigging Inquisition can throw at her, _everything_ , and apparently it’s still not enough to prove that she might be more than just a worthless coward. All that shite, frigging all of it, and still Leliana thinks she’s too weak and too bloody fragile to handle a stupid bloody name.

They’ll never see it, will they? Doesn’t matter how long they let her stick around; they’ll never believe that maybe, just maybe, she’s a little bit bigger than the stuff that scares her.

“I don’t…” She still sounds shaky, so she takes a breath and steels her voice. “I don’t need you to protect me. Not from frigging _words_.”

“I know that.” Leliana looks like her heart’s breaking, like she wants to lean in and touch her, try and make this right with her hands if not her words, but she doesn’t because she can see the danger in Sera’s eyes, knows that she’d bite her fingers off if she tried. “It’s simply…”

“What?” Sera snaps. “Simply _what_?”

Leliana winces. She shifts away, puts as much space between them as she can in the tiny tent. Feels odd, that; usually it’s Sera flinching back, Sera shying away from contact and confrontation. It’s not like Leliana to need the isolation, not like her at all, and the moment is a pointed reminder that Sera isn’t the only one who’s spent a long time mistrusting. Leliana hides from everyone up there in that bloody rookery; this can’t be easy for her either, but her stupid Game-face is so good that sometimes it’s easy to forget.

“I travelled with the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight,” she says after a moment. Not much of an explanation, that, but at least it’s a start. “You know that already, yes?”

Sera nods, scowls. “Everyone does.”

“Indeed. It is hardly a secret.” She folds her hands in her lap, looks down at them; easier, Sera supposes, than looking at her, seeing the past in her face. The years between them feel very long right now. “You must know, then, that our journeys brought us to Denerim. More than once, in fact.”

“So what?” Sera asks. Her stomach hurts. “Lot of people were there. Doesn’t make you special.”

“Agreed,” Leliana says, a hushed breath that sounds like an explanation even though it’s not. “But it does grant me a unique perspective, yes?”

Sera bites her lip, lays one hand over her belly and grips the edge of the blanket in the other, twists the fabric round and round her fingers. “Doubt it,” she says.

“Well, not so unique as yours, I concede. But I was there. I saw what the people of Denerim went through, and while I cannot claim to have been…” Her knuckles go white; that’s more emotion than she’s ever shown in all the time Sera’s known her. “We did what we could, of course… but with more pressing matters at hand…”

She sighs, and it shakes her whole body; Sera can almost see the regret lighting sparks under her skin, and a part of her aches to help. Feels weird, offering comfort instead of needing it, but she does her best because it’s what good people do.

“Whatever,” she says. “Wouldn’t have made no difference, would it? What’s one Orlesian arse going to do for a whole city, yeah? Even with your precious ‘Hero’.”

Leliana flinches, just slightly, then shakes her head. “In any case, it is not… the waters grow muddier the further we go from them.” A heavy, clumsy metaphor, Sera thinks, the kind that Varric would love. “Josie… she’s heard the rumours, the stories, read the reports, all sorts… but she does not _know_.” She laughs, hollow and weak. “Oh, she thinks she does, of course. It is one of her many faults, and indeed strengths: she believes she knows so much more than she does. She thinks that hearing and reading is the same as seeing, but it is not. She has no idea, not like I do, and I thought… I truly believed…”

_Spit it out,_ Sera thinks, but her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Um.”

Smooth as a bloody rockslide, that, but Leliana nods and presses on as though she managed something a whole lot smarter. “I would not listen to her. I had to do things my way. _What does she know,_ I thought. How could she deign to presume how you would feel when she was never there? How could she imagine what it was like, what you must have been through? I assured myself that I knew better. Stubborn and foolish, and I did not listen…”

“Idiot,” Sera mutters, almost to herself.

Leliana nods. “Yes. I was so certain that my experiences gave me insight into yours. I let my own feelings blind me. I could not imagine that yours might be different.” She swallows, shakes her head, and Sera watches her get lost in her own feelings, her own half-buried hurts. “What happened there, Sera… those are not memories I would wish to dredge up in anyone. Truly, I only wished to spare you the pain for as long as possible.”

“And what did you expect to happen when we got there?” It’s a struggle to find her voice, and the words come out slurred. “Thought you’d just… what? Keep your mouth shut for the whole journey, then yell _‘Surprise!’_ when we show up at the frigging gates? How is that a better plan than just telling me straight out? How—”

“I thought I could prepare you.” She says it in a rush, like one long word. “I had planned… foolish, I know… but the journey is a long one, and I planned on using it to ease you into the idea. I thought that might make it less unpleasant when the moment…” She trails off, sorrow and regret burning like fire behind her eyes. “But no. As you say, I was… idiotic.”

“Bloody right, you were.”

“What was I thinking?” She’s talking to herself again, or at least it sounds that way. “I’m no diplomat. Perhaps once I could have played the part… ah, but that was a lifetime ago. It has been so long since I attempted something like this… so long since I…”

Sera sighs. “Spend too much time with those bloody birds, you do.”

“You may be right.” Surprising, the easy agreement, but Leliana only smiles when Sera frowns her confusion. “No need to be surprised. It’s true enough, yes? I know myself well enough to acknowledge the truth.” She looks away, thoughtful and distant, like she’s not really here at all. “I spend so much time with my birds… keep everyone at arms’ length… hide from the world because it’s safer that way…”

Sera swallows. “Yeah,” she says, and doesn’t add that she knows the feeling.

Leliana, of course, continues as though Sera’s not there at all. “That was foolish of me. And what can I do now? Out here with you… I thought I understood what that would entail, thought I would remember how to travel like this, how to pass the time with a companion, to be like I was… but it’s like a hazy dream. Another life. Another soul, perhaps. Not me at all.”

Sera gets that. She really does. Easy, so frigging easy to stay up there, hide for the rest of her life with the birds and the shadows, all that shite. Easy and safe, and Maker knows she understands that impulse. Been so long for both of them, and not just bloody Denerim.

It’s just that none of this makes sense now. Why all of this? Why now? And why with _her_?

Sera knows her weaknesses, knows that she has a lot of them, knows how far she is from anyone’s ideal. She’s the last person someone like Leliana should pick for a mission like this, assuming it really is genuine. She isn’t good with people, isn’t good with traveling or nature or anything at all. She’s stupid and shitty and small, and it doesn’t make sense. None of this bullshit makes sense, and there’s a violence in the way she tosses the blanket to the side and swings around, gets right up in Leliana’s face and looks for answers.

“So, then, why?”

Leliana blinks, but doesn’t seem particularly surprised by the question. “What do you mean?” she asks, as innocent as anything.

“I mean, _why_?” Saying it again doesn’t help, and Sera realises a moment too late that she might not want to hear the answer. The idea of it pricks at her skin like little needles, scoring out secrets in strange languages. “This. Now. Us. Denerim. Take your bloody pick. Makes sense if you’re doing this shit to kick me out, sure. But you say you’re not, and even if I wanted to believe that…”

Her eyes sting; she swipes at them with her fists. Leliana ducks her head to avoid the flailing. “It is the truth.”

“So you bloody say. So, then, why? Could’ve done it on your own if you wanted, yeah? We both know you’re better than me, both know you could pull off shite like this in your sleep. Wouldn’t even need to break a sweat. Or you could’ve sent out one of your stupid agents, one of your frigging birds… you got reach, resources, everything. Could’ve done it any way you wanted. But here you are, doing it with _me_. Small and shitty, and way stupider than you. And if it’s not because you want to chuck me back there… if it’s really not… then _why_?”

“Why do you think?” Leliana asks, very quietly.

Sera shakes her head. Can’t think, can’t figure it out. Made sense when she thought it was all over, when she thought they were getting rid of her. Made sense, because that’s all she’s ever been good for, because that’s the only reason anyone would put up with her on a trip like this. Made perfect sense, that, but this doesn’t at all. This is weird as fuck. This is the opposite of kicking her out; this is Leliana, Sister frigging Nightingale, going out of her way to keep her around, keep her _close_. Dragging her to Denerim, not to leave her there, but to… what? Keep her around? Like she really _did_ just want the company?

Not possible, that. Can’t be. No-one’s wanted her company since… since…

“ _Piss_.”

Leliana smiles, a sad kind of smile, like she’s proud and broken at the same time. “It’s not so difficult to believe, is it?” she asks. “Perhaps Josephine and I aren’t the only ones who do not listen, hm? You should look to yourself as well.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She touches Sera’s cheek, just for a second, maybe not even that, then draws back. “It’s easy to assume the worst, no? Easy to assume that we would cast you aside, give up on you as you have given up on yourself, throw you away like so much rubbish. So easy to think so little of us, is it not?” She sighs, shakes her head. “And yet, it seems impossible to believe that we might think more of you… that we might want to hear what you have to say, that we might want to reach out, that we might—”

“Don’t…” She doesn’t even know why she’s saying it, only that it hurts and she needs it to stop.

“—that we might, after all, _care_.”

“Don’t.” Harder, almost violent; it’s close to a sob now, wet and desperate. “Just… frigging…”

“As you wish.”

Drops it, then, just like that. Drops it, lies back down like the whole conversation is over, like it never happened at all. Sera doesn’t know whether to be relieved or upset by that, so she sticks for being shaken and confused. Leliana’s tugging at the blanket, pulling it over her again, settling down to sleep, and all Sera can do is stare at her.

It’s a long moment before she can move. Clenches her fists, when she can, and breathes through her nose. She still doesn’t get it, and that makes her uncomfortable. Feels too raw to ask more questions, but the uncertainty tugs at her like sutures through the skin, a bad wound healing rough. She still doesn’t understand, but even the thought of hearing that word again, _care_ , is enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. Makes her remember things she doesn’t want to, makes her think of warmth and smiling faces, of feeling safe and finding out she’s not. She wants to know more, but she’s so scared of hearing it.

She doesn’t lie down. Doesn’t even try to get some sleep. No point, is there? Too much to think about, and she’s trying too bloody hard not to think about any of it.

So, yeah, she stays upright, hugging her knees and staring at the tent-flap, listening to Leliana’s breathing, the way it hitches, the way she shifts ever so slightly, the way she pretends to be asleep even though Sera knows she’s not. Got the look of it, though, all wrapped up in the blanket, snuggly and warm and comfy. Easy to imagine she really is asleep when she looks like that, easy to imagine none of this ever happened.

Tempting to join her, too. Even if she can’t sleep, so tempting to curl up at her side, wrap herself around her body, familiar after so much time smooshed together. Tempting to close her eyes, breathe in the lingering scent of birds, of Skyhold and safety and…

…but then, that’s part of the problem, innit? _Safety_. Never had that before. Hasn’t believed in it, not since she was little, not since the one time she did, the one time she was stupid enough to let her guard down, let herself believe she was safe, let herself call some stupid shithole _home_. Wasn’t so safe in the end, though, and all it did was make the hurt deeper when it all fell apart. Learned that lesson real good, and she’s too bloody tired to learn it again. Don’t need no frigging blanket. Don’t need no frigging nothing.

It’s just like she said, Leliana, looking all sad and heartbroken and shit. So much easier for someone like Sera to believe that they’re going to kick her out, get rid of her, chuck her away like rubbish. So much easier to believe that she’s worthless than imagine that she might not be. She doesn’t know how to deal with shit like that, and in truth she’s not sure she wants to. Scary as fuck, the idea that she might be wanted again, and properly this time.

_Caring_. Makes her feel ill, piecing together the difference, the last time she heard it and the way it twisted her up inside. Lies on top of lies, and who makes someone feel shitty about themselves because they _care_? Lies and pride, and she hated that word so much, hated the idea of it. But Leliana says it like it means something different, like she actually knows what it means. _We care_ , she says, and she lied too but it wasn’t the same. Lied to protect her, lied because she didn’t want her to hurt. Lied for Sera’s sake, not her own. Lied because she thought it would keep her _safe_.

Thinking about it makes her feel shaky, makes her scared. It’s stupid, she knows, and tries to cling to that. She’s shaking so hard it feels like her bones are rattling, like her ribs are pressing against her lungs. Shaking so hard she can’t breathe, and the only way she can deal with feeling that way is to tell herself again and again and again that she’s stupid. What kind of idiot can’t handle compassion? What kind if idiot is scared of being safe?

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

But when did knowing it ever make it stop?

*

They set out early, and ride all day without stopping.

Leliana’s relentless, more so than yesterday. She rides like the wind, like she’s taking out all her feelings on the poor horse, on the landscape, the chunks of earth and dirt ripped out of the ground, on anything she can get hold of. Understandable, probably, after last night, and it’s kind of comforting to know that Sera’s not the only one still reeling from that.

Sera turns her head, lets her cheek rest against rough chainmail, watches the ground behind, the way their tracks disappear. Some kind of metaphor, that, like they’re washing away the things they were, on a journey back to where they came from. Or, well, where one of them came from, anyway. Both got demons there though, and it feels like something powerful to watch the present disappear behind them as they thunder into the past.

Makes her feel nauseous after a while, though; the horizon tilts and jerks in time with the horse’s gallop, so she faces forwards again, presses her forehead to the junction between Leliana’s shoulders. Cries at the contact, and doesn’t know why.

They make camp once again after the sun goes down.

It’s a routine by now; Leliana hunts and Sera stokes the fire, watches the flames lick the meat as it cooks. They eat quietly, both subdued, and when their eyes meet over the dying fire, Leliana looks every bit as tired and drawn as Sera feels. Looks like she’s been crying too, maybe, though that’s probably a trick of the light. Her own reflection amplified by the firelight or something like that; everyone knows that Sister Nightingale doesn’t cry.

Kind of easy to imagine she does, though. At least, easy to imagine that she might have feelings. When the fire’s gone down and it’s dark and they’re lying side-by-side on their stupid little bedroll, when Sera’s gripping the edges of the blanket in her shaking fists, biting back her own choked-off tears, when Leliana’s front is smooshed against her back, arm thrown over her hip and hair tickling her face, breath shuddering just a little against her neck… easy to squeeze her eyes shut and imagine that she’s shaking too. All too easy to imagine all sorts of things when they’re pressed together like this.

She puts them out of her mind, though, because she’s messed-up enough without them. Closes her eyes, and lets herself fall.

Easier than she’d ever admit, that part. With Leliana draped over her like that, exhausted from a whole day of riding, full up on meat that isn’t made of lizard, easier than she’d ever expect to just shut her eyes and drift off, fall and fade and…

… _Fade_.

Semi-conscious, semi-aware, slipping in and out of half-forgotten moments. Wishing, vague and hazy, that they’d stay forgotten, that she didn’t remember how it felt, warm and comfortable and safe, wrapped up in real arms. Memories lie, and she knows that the truth is not sokind, pride and hate and hurt, but in her dreams it’s as sweet as anything, sweeter than freshly-baked cookies, still warm on her lips. Feels just like this, arms around her and a smile against her cheek, a real bed and real blankets and real pillows, a real fire burning. Real, all of it… or it felt that way once. Years ago, it was all so real, and she smiles to remember, smiles to live it out again, smiles like she’s never smiled before, like she’s never had a reason to, smiles because for the first time in her life she’s _safe_.

Twitches awake, face wet and salt on her tongue.

It’s the middle of the night, still, dark and chilly, and it hurts like nothing she’s ever known because she still feels it, the echo of it, still remembers what it was like, how it felt, learning words like _safe_ and _caring_ , letting herself imagine for the first time that she might be someone after all, that she might grow up into more than a dirty knife-ear or a stupid flat-ear or whatever else, imagining and wondering and finally, _finally_ believing. Felt so good, believing, so impossibly wonderful… right up to the day she learned that it was all lies.

Remembers it all, hazy and half-awake, and remembering is bad enough, but dreaming made it real. For a moment, a lifetime, she was there again, tiny and hopeful and stupid. And that’s so much worse.

She chokes down a curse, then another, opens her eyes to find then she’s there all over again, real blankets and a real pillow, real frigging arms around her, just like in the dream, the memory, the reality that wasn’t true. Real arms, warm and safe, just like _hers_ but so far away. And she knows that it’s different now, that _she’s_ different now, that she doesn’t need it like she did back then, doesn’t need to be warm or safe or loved, doesn’t need anything. Steal and eat and hide, survive, survive, survive, and hasn’t that always been enough?

It has. She knows it, knows it right down to her bones. Frigging _knows_ , she does, and it should be enough now. Knowing, biting down, feeling the gnawing in her guts, the echo of hunger and too-fullness, the echo of everything she’s wrapped around herself ever since she joined the Inquisition, everything that keeps her grounded, keeps her who she is, who she has to be. Can’t care about the other stuff, the memories of something that felt like a home for a while, a woman who said she cared then lied for herself. Can’t care, won’t care, shouldn’t care…

…but Leliana’s arms are warm and safe, everything a Nightingale shouldn’t be, everything that Sera believed in, everything she thought she had before the lies tore it all away. It hurts to remember, hurts to feel, hurts, hurts, _hurts_ , and Leliana’s arms are so warm, so safe, so much of all those hurtful things, all those things she wishes she didn’t want. It’s too much, too bloody much, and before she can stop herself she’s pressing herself into those warm safe arms and sobbing like the child she was.

Leliana stirs, holds her close, whispers, “There, there…”

Her voice is weird, thick with sleep, like she’s not even really there at all, like she’s as far away as Sera is. Further, maybe. It’s eerie, but not nearly so eerie as the quiet affection in her voice, the… no, it’s more than that. More than affection, more like reverence, like Sera’s the most precious thing in the whole frigging world. Not just her voice, either; it’s in all of her. The way she holds her, using almost her whole body, chin pressed to the top of Sera’s head like she’d frigging die to keep her safe, like she really does care… like…

“There, there,” she murmurs again. Richer this time, sweeter and softer and so frigging beautiful. It takes her breath away, Sera’s, and she’s so close to believing her, so close to really frigging _believing_ , so frigging close.

“I…” She tries, but the words die in another sob, choked out against Leliana’s chest.

Leliana presses her lips to Sera’s temple, sweet and tender. “I have you… my love…”

That shatters the moment fast as anything, and Sera pulls away like she’s just caught fire. “You frigging _what_?”

Leliana’s eyelids flutter, the violence of the outburst bringing her back to herself, but it’s a long moment before she shakes off the revenants of sleep entirely. Maker knows, Sera understands that, and she softens a little, gives Leliana space to recover, keeps real quiet and watches. Embarrassed, kind of, but not nearly as much as Leliana is.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she was dreaming of. Good dreams, like Sera’s. Maybe a little too good, and it seems that Sera’s not the only one who finds the good ones almost worse than the bad. Bad dreams scare her, sure, freeze her veins with fear or lash at her lungs with pain, sometimes strike hard with memories she thought she’d lost, but the good ones are worse when they’re so far away. Easy to shake off a nightmare by remembering that it’s not real, but doing the same to the happy feelings just cuts even deeper.

Leliana’s squinting at her in the darkness. “Sera?” She’s hoarse, rough but definitely herself. “I’m sorry, I was…”

Sera picks at the edge of the blanket, bites her lip. “Dreaming, yeah?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

“Yeah.” She swallows hard, drives back the last of the tears. “Me too.”

For a long moment, neither of them speak. Sera’s still struggling to cast off the feeling, the warmth and safety, the way she almost let herself forget that it’s not real, that it was never real, that the only one she can depend on is herself. She’s breathing hard, fighting to keep from crying again, aching with every part of her to be little again, to be eager and young and small; more than anything in the world right now, she wants to be stupid enough not to know that it’s all a lie.

Leliana’s breathing hard too, rattled for once, and the air between them is warm, heavy with the weight of their breath. Be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just slip back into her arms, let them both find some measure of comfort in that, Leliana in holding someone and Sera in letting herself be held. She can see the ache in Leliana’s eyes as surely as she can feel it in herself, the need to wrap someone up in her arms, a body to hear those broken dream-promises, _‘there, there’_ and _‘my love’_ and all the rest of it. They’re both looking for something, aren’t they? Both dreaming about someone who mattered. They’d complement each other so well if they’d only allow it.

But no. Sera knows better than that. Years on years of learning that lesson, and it’ll take more than a sweet dream and a sad-faced Spymaster to tear it out of her. Take more than a sobbing city elf to turn Leliana back into that soft heart, too, she knows, and anyway what good will it do either of them when it’s so close to morning, when the sun will light up the truth for both of them?

No frigging good at all.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana says again, probably more to break the silence than anything else. “As I’ve mentioned, it’s been a long time since I shared a bed with anyone. A very long time. And longer still since I was… since somebody trusted me enough to share their nightmares.”

Sera bites her lip. It hurts, yeah, but not as much as the words. “Wasn’t a nightmare,” she whispers, soft enough that she can pretend Leliana doesn’t hear her.

She looks surprised. Can’t really blame her for that, Sera supposes, what with the crying and all. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Bites down harder. “Was the other thing. You know. Warm, safe. Frigging… frigging _happy_.”

Hates that. Saying it, remembering it, feeling it all over again. Hates herself, too, because even now she still bloody wants it. A lifetime learning this lesson, and all it takes is a moment of feeling it again for the whole thing to be undone.

Her eyes sting, but she refuses to cry again. Won’t let herself break down, not over something like this, something she doesn’t even deserve. She has to be tough, all hunched shoulders and scowling, has to make Leliana see that she knows it’s stupid, knows that _she’s_ stupid for letting it happen. It’s not okay, crying over long-dead memories, over stupid dreams of a life that taught her how to hate. It’s stupid, and it’s not okay. _She’s_ not bloody okay.

She snarls, curses. Loud, violent, the worst words she can think of. Swipes her eyes with the backs of her fists, shoving back the tears before they can start up again. Gets even angrier when Leliana takes her by the wrists, hands so gentle, and eases her arms back down to her sides. Hates that she lets it happen, hates that there’s a part of her that _wants_ it to happen, that relishes the contact, the compassion, the lingering traces of skin on skin. She should be better than this, shouldn’t be aching for things she’s hated almost her entire life, shouldn’t be longing for sweet things she knows are laced with poison.

She knows where this ends. Caring and trusting and all the rest of it, letting people see her cry, letting them catch glimpses of her soft spots. She knows where it ends, knows what happens next. Warm, safe, loved, sure, but then comes the hurt and the hate, the lies and the pain and the awful things that still make her seethe inside. She knows this shit, knows that she’s not safe, that it’s dangerous to imagine she is, and as Leliana leans in, eyes blazing with so much passionate pain, so much wounded want, as she brushes Sera’s forehead with a kiss that’s not really about _her_ at all, as her heart leaps into her mouth, suddenly all Sera can think about is how badly she needs to find some shadows to hide in.

“Don’t,” she says, voice shaking. “ _Don’t_.”

And just like last night, Leliana doesn’t. Stops, smiles, lets her go, just because Sera asked her to. Weird as anything, that, being listened to, and she struggles to catch her breath in the space Leliana’s body leaves behind. It feels like a continent, the distance between them, hot air pulsing like a promise or a threat. Leliana sits back on the bedroll, rocking on her haunches; she’s studying her closely, marking every line on her face, and Sera wants to tell her not to do that either but she doesn’t have the strength. Leliana looks so broken, like she’s aching in all the same places that Sera is, and Sera thinks about asking who she was dreaming about, what sort of soul-deep pain she must be feeling that would make her look at stupid worthless Sera like she means so much.

“Yes,” Leliana says, like the answer to a question nobody asked. “We should go back to sleep, in any case. There’s still a deal of ground to cover, and not all of it flat. We need to be rested and ready, yes?”

So painful, though, the way she’s still looking at her, like she’s as broken inside as Sera is, like her memories are just as brutal, painful in the way that only good things are, awful in the way that only wanting is. And, yeah, maybe they’re closer to each other than either of them wants to admit; Sera doesn’t know much about Leliana’s past, and she kind of flatters herself that Leliana doesn’t know much about hers either. There are worlds between them, worlds of empty space, but the way they look at each other in moments like this, the way they _find_ each other, both so desperate and hungry, so lonely… it resonates in a way she never expected, a way that feels like knowing, like understanding.

It makes her want to rethink everything. Makes her want to take back that _‘don’t’_ , want to press herself into Leliana’s arms again, lose herself to whispers and feathery forehead-kisses and all of it, lose herself to pretending, just for once, that she’s not alone. Wants to let Leliana lose herself too, let her pretend that she’s not alone either, that maybe there’s a _them_ in all this mutual pain. Wants to, yeah, but the space between them is so wide, it would take a decade to cross it.

So, instead, she just says “Yeah,” like that’s even close to what she’s thinking.

“Yes,” Leliana says, just as soft, just as regretful.

Sera closes her eyes, tries to ignore the want twisting her heart. “Sleep. Yeah.”

“Yes,” Leliana says again. “We should, yes.”

But, of course, they don’t.

*

After that, it’s almost a relief to be back on the road.

With the wind whipping past their ears, they couldn’t talk even if they wanted to. Sera definitely doesn’t want to, and if the look of her is anything to go by, Leliana doesn’t either; she’s evasive, like Nightingale-evasive, and the shift in atmosphere is tangible and incredibly heavy.

They go all day again, as hard and fast as ever, and though Sera knows Leliana must be as exhausted as she is, when they make camp for the night she finds herself in the tent alone.

Leliana stays outside. She stands there, silhouetted in the moonlight, staring up at the stars like she’s looking for some mysterious something that Sera won’t ever be able to see. She says she wants to stand watch, claims that they’re on the edge of civilisation now and not so safe as they were in the wilderness. Might be a valid point, but Sera’s not buying it. She’s about as dumb as they come, yeah, but even she’s not _that_ dumb. It’s no secret that they’re both uncomfortable, weighted down by dreams and memories, maybe by unwanted thoughts as well, and maybe there’s a part of Sera that flatters itself Leliana is thinking of her, is struggling with the way she flinched away, the way she said _“don’t”_.

Whatever the reason, she gives her room. Maybe gives herself room. Maybe just needs the air. Whatever. Point is, she stands outside and stares up at her stupid stars, all alone, all night. Pretends it’s about keeping them safe even though they both know it’s not. Talks shite and expects Sera to swallow it; more sweet-tasting lies, for sure, but it’s hard to tell this time which of them she’s trying to protect.

When morning breaks, what feels like a century later, Sera refuses breakfast. It’s only partly to do with the whole lonely-night thing; truth is, she’s already feeling edgy after so many days letting Leliana feed her. She doesn’t like being dependent on others for her meals, can never quite shake that feeling that they can just as easily take it away again. It’s different when she travels with the Inquisitor and the others; they usually turn to Sera for the hunter-gatherer crap, because she’s so good at it. She likes it that way, and they do too. Not like here; here, it’s Leliana who does all the work, killing and cleaning and gutting and cooking. All Sera has to do is eat.

It’s worse since she started aching, though. Worse since she started wanting the safety, the hearth and home and all that shite she told herself she never would. It’s been so frigging long since she let herself even think about it at all, much less in a way that aches, and it itches under her skin now like a mage’s storm spell, little bolts of electricity at the edge of everything she does. She feels vulnerable, and it’s so much worse because she kind of _wants_ to feel vulnerable, wants to remember what it’s like to feel that secure. It’s like there’s a little voice in the back of her head all the time, wondering if it would really be _so bad_ or _so terrible_ or _so whatever_.

Dangerous thinking, that. Dangerous and stupid and awful, so she refuses to eat breakfast because it’s the only thing she can do to reassert herself, the only way she can think of saying _‘I don’t need this and I don’t need you’_.

Leliana doesn’t push her, of course. Doesn’t mention it, doesn’t say anything at all. She just chews on her own food, slow and thoughtful, and turns away to ready the horse when she’s done. Not a word, nothing. It’s a weird feeling, like she’s avoiding her but not giving up on her. Sera’s pretty sure that’s never happened before; the whole ‘giving each other space’ thing, that’s new. Usually, once someone starts avoiding her, it’s because she’s about to get thrown out. Doesn’t feel like that now; feels different, and it’s weird that Sera feels relieved by that.

She should be uncomfortable, she knows. Should be upset, maybe even angry; she’d got her mind so completely fixed on Leliana ditching her in Denerim the second they get there, so sure that this was all some master-plan by Milady Josie and the Shadow of Birds to kick her out, and it’s almost more frightening to remind herself that this isn’t that, that being avoided doesn’t mean being rejected. Frightening to see the way Leliana doesn’t look at her and remember that she’s doing all this because she wants her to _stay_.

It’s scary that she finds herself almost trusting that, almost believing it. Scary to find herself thinking that maybe she is wanted after all. Stupid words, that’s all it was; there’s no proof in any of it yet, and still she finds it’s harder to doubt than to believe. Never felt that way before, never let herself, and she forces herself to remember that one well-intentioned road trip doesn’t make her invincible, doesn’t make her _safe_. So they’re not tossing her away just yet? _Whatever,_ she forces herself to think, _there’s always next frigging week, innit?_

Still, though, she goes to the horse with a show of eagerness. Lets her hand rest on the stupid beast’s flank, almost touching-close to Leliana’s glove. Makes a show of being eager to get back on the road, because that’s easy and familiar territory for them both. Tries not to wonder when she starting associating words like _familiar_ and _easy_ with her arms around Leliana’s waist.

“We ready?” she asks, ever so quietly.

Leliana doesn’t look at her. Of course she frigging doesn’t. She manages a nod, though, and Sera supposes that counts for something. Gives the horse an encouraging little pat on the neck, and climbs up. Stares straight ahead and doesn’t blink.

“We should be there by nightfall,” she says, but the rasp of her voice makes it sound like she already is.

*

She’s right; they do arrive by nightfall.

The sun’s just hovering over the horizon when they stop. They’re not quite there yet, maybe another hour or so left to ride, but Leliana stops them dead, climbing down like she plans to set up camp or something. Can’t be, not this close, and Sera frowns down at her from the horse.

She doesn’t climb down herself. Her arse is sore, to say nothing of the rest of her, and she doesn’t feel much like planting her face in grass again until she knows for sure that they’re sticking around here.

“What’s this?” she asks. “Why’re we stopping?”

Leliana studies the horizon. “We’ll arrive soon,” she says, like Sera doesn’t know that already. “I thought you might need a moment to…”

“What? ‘Prepare myself’ or some shit?” Clearly, she doesn’t know her very well, and it’s hard not to let a hint of bitterness cut into the words. “Piss on that. Had the whole frigging journey to do that, innit? What would I need another bloody moment for?”

Leliana nods. “As you say,” she says, but doesn’t climb back up.

She doesn’t move at all, in fact, and Sera twitches her impatience, tapping her heels against the horse’s flank just to give herself something to do. They’re so close, so frigging close; the anticipation is churning inside her, sour and bad-tasting, and she just wants to get it over with, just wants to bloody get there already so she can stop waiting, stop dreading it.

What does Leliana think she’s playing at, messing around like this? Denerim might be a shithole full of memories that hurt, but at least it’s a shithole with a tavern and a warm frigging bed. Maybe even a bath. _Maker, please, yes._ After days upon days riding double on a stupid stinky horse with a woman who lives with birds, there’s nothing in all of Thedas that Sera wants more than a bath. Might even be worth braving the bad memories and all the rest of it, if they come with hot water. Worth anything, at this point, just to not be here doing bloody nothing.

And yet, for all that, still Leliana doesn’t move.

Sera sits there for as long as she can, biting down on her lip to keep the aggravation from spilling over. It’s hard, though; even without the looming shadow of Denerim almost within touching distance, she’s not exactly the most patient person in the world. Sitting around makes her twitchy, and waiting makes it even worse. She just wants to bloody _move_ , and though she fights it back as long as she can it’s not long at all before the restlessness spills out of her.

“We going or what?” she blurts out, and instantly regrets it. “I mean… uh…”

“A moment,” Leliana says again.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t seem to react at all, but there’s an edge in her voice that lands right between Sera’s ribs. She sounds proper rough, like throaty and raw, like maybe she’s… like…

But, no. That’s not possible. Is it?

Without even thinking, Sera hops down from the horse. Lands bad like always, gets grass in her mouth and all over her clothes, but this time she doesn’t care. She bolts up to her feet right quick, unsteady and stupid and stiff as anything; moving’s hard, but she ignores the ache in her muscles and shuffles over to Leliana’s side, tries to get her attention, or at least get a good look at her. Not possible, yeah, but a part of her knows, is so sure that she knows; she’d recognise that sound anyway, that hoarseness and the tremors; of course she knows it, and it doesn’t matter that it’s not possible because she _knows_ , and…

…and, yeah, apparently it _is_ possible. Must be, right? Because there it is, right there on her face, in the tight line of her mouth, in the way she stares ahead, in the way her eyes shine, blank but bright and so painfully wet.

Sister frigging Nightingale is _crying_.

“Oh,” Sera whispers. Then, because apparently she is just that bloody stupid, “Well, shite.”

Leliana chuckles, but her shoulders heave. Doesn’t really sound like a laugh at all, though, does it? Sounds more like a sob. Sera bites the inside of her cheek, scrambles for something to say, some way of making this better, but Leliana beats her to it, forces a smile, tries to look normal. It’s not working, not fooling anyone, but Sera kind of suspects it’s not really for her benefit anyway. Helps, she knows, to pretend that you are fooling someone; maybe helps to fool yourself.

“It’s nothing, Sera,” she says.

“Don’t look like nothing,” Sera mutters. “Looks like… I dunno. Looks like _something_.”

She’s trying to make this easier. Probably not working, but that’s the idea. Trying to be all gentle-prying, like Milady Josie would be if she was here, like she’d tell Sera to be if she ever bloody listened. Too late for piss like that, though, innnit? Milady Josie’s not here, and Sera’s never been good at gentle, never been sensitive or delicate or anything like that. She’s all in-your-face, arrows first and questions later, and she’s a thousand leagues away from anyone who could show her how to not be like that.

She’s out of her element here, and she has no idea how to handle a crying… well, anyone, really, but Leliana especially. Honestly, until right now she didn’t even know that the sneaky Spymaster even knew how to cry. Honestly, insensitive little shit that she is, there’s still a part of her now that wants to drop all this compassion stuff and just ask questions. _How? Why? What’s going on?_ Curious, like she always is, but the rest of her of her that knows that it wouldn’t be right, knows that this isn’t the time, that she can’t be selfish now.

Leliana sighs, turns to face her properly. “Sera.”

Her eyes are brighter than anything Sera’s ever seen, and she bites down the stupid part of her, the part that wants to _understand_ , locks in on the part that wants to _help_. “I… what can I… I mean… what do you…”

A chuckle, low and sad. “It’s nothing, Sera. It is simply as I said before: it has been a very long time since I was last here. Like yours, my memories are sharp.”

Sera swallows, wills her voice not to do that stupid thing it does, make her sound like an idiot. “The Blight, yeah?”

“The Blight, yes.” She takes a breath, steadies herself; it’s kind of comforting that Sera’s not the only one flailing and uneasy right now. “I… to tell the truth, I didn’t expect it to be so difficult.”

Sera shuffles her feet, chews her lip. She feels awful now, and not least of all because she’s got the impression that this whole stupid trip was meant to be for her benefit. She’s still not sure what they’re supposed to be stealing, or why, but Leliana’s made it pretty clear that it was meant to be some kind of bonding thing, reaching out or getting close or whatever. Plus, yeah, _Denerim_ , and all the bullshit that goes with that, bad memories and good ones, and it’s not fair.

It’s not frigging _fair_ that Leliana’s trying to do a good thing, or at least _maybe_ trying to, and yet she’s the one getting all teary and sad. Sera’s supposed to be the one shaking; she’s supposed to be the one who can’t handle the memory of a city she left long ago. She’s supposed to be the one swallowing her feelings, putting on a brave face and saying _‘it’s nothing’_. She’s supposed to be standing where Leliana is, there not here; she’s not supposed to be all helpless and worthless, and Leliana is sure as shit not supposed to be the one in tears.

“Hey,” she says, trying to sound like she knows what she’s doing, like Milady Josie would. Wishes she was here instead, wishes _someone_ was. “You… uh… you want to… I dunno… you want to talk about it? Or something?”

_Stupid,_ she thinks, but the floundering makes Leliana smile. A point for that, if only a small one.

“That’s sweet of you, Sera,” she says. “But this is not the sort of thing you can just talk through. It is…” She shakes her head, and the smile disappears; she’s still a way away from the cool and composed Sister Nightingale that Sera knows so well; she’s still too raw and open for that, but she’s inching back in that direction. Sera can’t figure out whether she should encourage that, or try to stop it. “I’m afraid it is still rather painful.”

_Ten years,_ Sera thinks. That’s a lot of time to carry around something that hurts. For her part, she can hardly even remember the world that far back. Little, yeah, scrabbling and stupid and so angry she couldn’t see straight. All this shite about Blight and Archdemons… it was so far away from what she was, the shadows and the dark corners, dirty back alleys full of stolen food, the hiding places that kept her alive. What would a frigging Archdemon want with shitholes like that? What would it want from some ragged little girl? It ruined a whole lot of lives, if those stories are true, but it never went anywhere near her.

So what can she say? How’s she supposed to reach out and comfort someone who feels that hurt when she can’t even frigging imagine it? What’s she supposed to do?

What she does, stupid and pitiful as she is, is look up with big wide eyes and whisper, “Yeah?”

Leliana chuckles again, like she appreciates the effort even though it’s pathetic. It’s wan, her smile, but kind of warm too; weird, how she can be both at the same time. Sera only ever manages one, and usually the shite one.

“Indeed,” Leliana says, touching her face. It’s tender, the contact, like it’s grounding her, reminding her of the space between now and then. “We lost a great deal. Some of us more than others.”

_The Hero of Ferelden_ , Sera thinks. She knows a bit of this, sort of, because Blackwall keeps trying to school her about it. History, he calls it. Important shit. Warden shit. All just a load of bullshit to someone like Sera, but she listens to him because she likes him. Always feels weird, though, hearing other people talk about shit that happened when she’s the one who was actually there.

Never even been to Denerim, Blackwall, but Sera was right in the frigging middle of it. Right there in the middle of all that ‘important shit’, and she doesn’t remember a sodding thing. He looked at her real hard when she said that, when she admitted that she didn’t know anything. Like it’s her bloody fault her memory’s bad, right? Like it’s her fault it’s so full up with other stuff there’s no room for ‘important shit’ and ‘history’ and all that whatever.

Maybe he was right about that. Maybe if she was better, remembered more, she’d be able to help now. Maybe she’d know what to say, how to feel, what to think. Maybe she’d know _something_. Got a point, Blackwall, doesn’t he? Because, yeah, she should know this stuff. Everyone else does, don’t they? Idiots who weren’t even here, rich tits safe in their frigging homes a million leagues away; they know this stuff like the back of their bloody hands. And if they were here right now, those arses she hates so much, they’d know what to say.

But not her. Not stupid Sera. Doesn’t have a frigging clue.

So what, then? What can she do except be honest? Truth might hurt but it doesn’t make you sick. So she swallows, sighs, shakes her head and says, “I don’t really remember.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” It comes out a little harsh, maybe even a little cruel, but she catches herself right away. “No. Forgive me, Sera. That was unkind.”

“Nah. I…” Swallows again. “I get it, yeah?”

Leliana nods, sighs. Opens up, ever so slightly, and Sera is awestruck at the sight of her so exposed. “The Hero of Ferelden was very dear to me, as you may or may not know. Returning to Denerim now, after so long… knowing what we lost, what we were forced to _sacrifice_ …”

Sera tries to swallow again, but she can’t. She feels like she’s drowning. “Yeah,” she says, voice thick. “Uh…”

But what? Frigging _again_. What can she say to make this easier, to make Leliana feel like she’s not alone, or at least that she doesn’t have to be? She’s never done this before, never been the one who has to be good, who has to be all compassionate and thoughtful and shit; she doesn’t know what to do, how things like sympathy work. She’s never had any for herself, not really, and she’s never really had any to give either. Compassion, tenderness, _caring_ ; it’s always been shit that happens to other people, shit that they go through. It’s always been some abstract idea, some fairy-story shite, and now that it’s more than that, she finds that she’s as terrified of being the one who does care as she is of having others care about her.

“We don’t have to discuss this,” Leliana says. “If it makes you uncomfortable…”

She’s all proper Nightingale, the way she says that, like it’s not really what she wants but she’s so frigging used to that, so used to not getting what she wants, so used to giving up herself for someone else’s stupid cause, that it comes as second nature to do it again now. It makes Sera angry, makes her ache to be better. Makes her straighten up, too, scared and all, and bloody _try_.

“No,” she says, and her voice rings strong. “I mean, it doesn’t. Not me. But you… that is… if you don’t want to, that’s okay. You don’t… we don’t…” _Andraste_ , she’s shit at this. “I mean, like… hey, it’s your pain, innit? Your memories and whatever. So… I dunno, maybe they’re personal or something? Maybe you don’t want to share ’em with a… with someone like me. Or maybe you’re, like, not ready or whatever. And that’s… that’s okay, yeah? It’s just fine.”

“I…” She lowers her face, hides it. “Thank you.”

“Right.” But she’s not done, can’t be done, has to keep going until it’s out, until Leliana knows that it really is all right. “But… but then, you know, maybe you are ready. Or maybe you do want to share it or… or whatever. And if… if you do, that’s great too. You know? I mean, we’re both _here_ , right? Both been here before, both going back, both got shit in that place we don’t want to deal with. And maybe it’s different shit, but it’s still… I mean, we’re still…”

Leliana doesn’t move, but there’s something so tender in the way she speaks. “Yes,” she says. “We certainly are.”

Sera takes a breath, keeps going. “And anyway. They say it’s important, all that stuff. Blight and Archdemon and the frigging Hero of Ferelden, all of it. They say… they say I’m supposed to know. You know, because I was there? And maybe… you know, maybe they’re right. Maybe I should. Like, it’s important history shite, innit? So maybe… maybe it’s good if I know about it. I mean… if you want to. Don’t have to or nothing, but if you… I mean, you know… if you feel weird about it? If you’re like… _‘oh, yeah, I’d like that, but it feels weird talking about it’_ , you know? It happens. I guess. So it doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be about that. Like, you don’t have to be venting or unburdening or whatever. You can just… you know, you can just be educating some idiot who don’t know better. If you… if that makes it easier. Yeah?”

She’s exhausted after all that, breathless and practically panting, but it feels so good to have said it, so good to have gotten something out. Even if it’s not enough, even if it’ll never be enough, still it feels so damn good that she tried.

Leliana raises her head at last, and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. Watery and weak, sure, but it’s there. It’s there, and Sera made it happen. She feels incredible.

“Yes,” she says, very quietly. “Yes, that works quite nicely.”

Sera beams. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

She leans in there, wraps Sera up in a big hug. Not the kind that’s supposed to be comforting, the way she held her after the dreams, all half-asleep and thinking she was someone else. Nothing like that; it’s not about giving, or even about taking, it’s about _being_. The two of them together, like they matter, like they’re not just them but really _them_. A proper hug, a real one… and the first one Sera’s had in a very, very long time.

“Wow,” she says when they break apart, because that’s about the only word she can process.

Leliana chuckles. Her eyes are dry now, but they’re still not quite Nightingale’s eyes. They’re not scary, for a start, not all Shadow of Birds dark or Spymaster secret-keeping or anything like that; they’re _warm_ , like her body gets when Sera presses against her, in bed or on horseback or wherever. Warm eyes, and a warm smile too, broken but in a way that might one day be a little better, like she’d forgotten what being warm felt like, what being _held_ felt like, like… like maybe Sera’s not the only one who hasn’t been hugged in a while.

“Now is not the time, though,” Leliana murmurs, almost to herself, and it takes Sera an embarrassingly long time to realise that she’s not talking about the hug.

“Right. Because, uh, mission. Yeah?”

“Indeed.” Her shoulders heave, but it’s not a sigh. “Though perhaps we could find some time to explore these things once we’re in the city.” She looks sad, really sad, but there’s hope in her voice when she adds, “A tour, perhaps?”

Honestly, Sera can’t think of anything in the world she wants less. Sure, the place probably looks real different now to the way it did back then, all fixed up after the Blight or whatever else, but it’s still _Denerim_ , innit? Still the place that made her hurt and hate, that made her angry and bitter, the place that took so much more than it ever gave. She doesn’t want to stroll past the miserable shadows of her old life like they’re not still flickering inside of her, doesn’t want to pass by the dark corners that sheltered her through darker times as though they weren’t beacons of light and hope. She doesn’t want Leliana to hurry past those places because they’re not frigging ‘important’.

They are important. Important to Sera, anyhow. And maybe they didn’t stop a Blight, maybe they didn’t sacrifice nothing, but they matter. They kept a little girl alive, shaped her into something not quite human but not so elfy either, something that’s _her_. They’re her life, her history, and every little corner is mapped out right there inside her skin.

The little nook near the bookseller’s where she used to hide from the fletcher, because where else was she supposed to get new arrows after she broke the old ones shooting at the wall? The piss-stinking alley behind the tavern where she chucked her guts the first time she drank herself stupid, and then again every time after that; never felt so shitty, or so alive. The holes in the walls in the bad side of town, lonely sad places where she shivered out winter nights or sweated out fevers or made a bed or a meal of someone’s tossed-out rubbish. They matter, those places. They matter to her.

And, okay. So maybe she doesn’t know the exact spot the Hero of Ferelden stood or how the Archdemon looked against the skyline or any of that shite. Maybe she doesn’t know piss about history. But she knows the guts and bones of Denerim better than anyone. And she really, _really_ doesn’t want Leliana to parade her around the fancy parts of town, the boutiques and the bakeries built up on the grave of some dead Warden, and tell her that _they’re_ important.

But then, it’s not really about that, is it?

It’s not about _Denerim_ the city. It’s not about the places she remembers or the places that Leliana remembers, not about looking around and seeing what’s changed. It’s about _them_ , about who they are now, their old hurts and old lives. They’re born again just like the damn city, her and Leliana both rebuilt from the ground up, and maybe it’s about that instead. About seeing the places their paths might of crossed, the countless little ways their broken parts might intersect.

They both survived this place, didn’t they? At the end of the day, isn’t that the part that matters? They’re both here, her and Leliana. Both alive, both survivors. Different kinds of surviving, sure, but it ended the same way, didn’t it?

It shouldn’t make any difference, then, that their hurts come from different places, different parts of the city, maybe different parts of themselves as well. Leliana with her heart and her soul, the locked-away secrets that she’s hidden so well among her birds, the parts of the city dressed up all fancy to hide the blood beneath; Sera with her lungs and her stomach, chest pounding and guts gnawing, the shadows and the alleys where she used to steal and eat and hide. It shouldn’t make any difference, _doesn’t_ make any difference. Because they’re both here, and neither of them are alone. They both survived Denerim once, and together they’ll survive it again. That’s what matters, innit? That’s what’s bloody _important_.

So, yeah, it’s easier than she expects to swallow down the dark parts of herself, the parts that can’t reconcile Leliana’s nostalgia with her own hurt. Easier than she expects to lean in close instead, rest her head against Leliana’s shoulder, close her eyes and breathe. Easier than she expects to nod and smile and actually mean it. Easier than she expects to believe that this is what they’re made for, that it’s normal and natural, that they really are a thing apart.

“Sure,” she says. “I’d like that.”

*


	4. Chapter 4

*

So, there it is.

Denerim, sprawled out in front of them like some big sprawling thing, like a creature with a life of its own.

It makes Sera’s insides go tight, the sight of it. They’re not even through the gates yet, and she’s already squirming; stupid as anything, that is, and she knows it. It’s just a city, just a stupid place, a little world carved out of stones and wood and people; it’s a whole lot of nothing in a very small space, and it shouldn’t make her feel the way it does. Shouldn’t make her feel all anxious and helpless and whatever, scared and shaky and small. Memories are all fine and good, yeah, but they shouldn’t change you, shouldn’t make you into something else. Shouldn’t stop breathing just by thinking about them.

Shouldn’t, sure, but doesn’t stop it from bloody happening. She feels like the city is a demon just waiting to tear her apart, helpless and tiny and so very alone.

It’s a weird kind of alone, though. Not the kind that secretly means ‘lonely’, not like she’s scared of turning around and finding that Leliana’s disappeared or something. No, it’s the other kind, the kind of alone that makes her heart seize up to think that she might not always be that way, the kind of alone where she’s more afraid of turning around and finding that Leliana _hasn’t_ disappeared, that she’s still there after all. It’s the kind of alone that’s been bred in her from the day she was born, the kind she’s learned to wrap around herself. _Alone_ , the only companion she’ll ever deserve.

It’s everything she’s ever known, that feeling, and it makes her panic. Here she is, here in _Denerim_ , standing next to someone who has spent the entire journey telling her she’s not alone after all, close enough that she can feel every bone in her body, close enough that she can feel the moment her shoulders go tight, the moment she sucks in her breath and whispers a prayer to Andraste, close enough that she can feel a thousand other things all at once. They’re close enough that they really are a _them_ , and that terrifies her more than anything she can imagine.

She wants to run. That’s her first instinct. The second they’re through the gates she wants to break away, run for the alleys, the dark corners, the shadowy places where not even Sister Nightingale could ever find her. Wants… no, more than wants, _needs_ to run away, to reassert what it means to be alone, to survive all on her own like she used to, stealing and eating and hiding. Wants to, needs to, has to. Every instinct in her body, every nerve and breath, every molecule is screaming at her to do it, but her muscles are locked and she can’t move at all.

“Unnerving, no?”

Leliana. Sera swallows, fights down the feeling, the terror, the weirdness of being here and not being alone, the desperate need to run away and find a place where she is, to give in to her primal instincts, the instincts that have kept her alive all her life. Has to fight it down, has to push it back, or Leliana will see. Can’t let that happen, can’t let her go all soft and sweet again, not when Sera knows she’s hurting too.

She turns, breathing deep and slow, forces her eyes to focus.

Leliana is breathing slowly as well, face twisted into a rictus of pain and awe. She looks like Sera feels, like standing still is using more strength than she has in her whole body. She’s not crying, but it’s pretty clear that she’s touched by what she sees on some deep spiritual level. Staring at the bustling streets, the familiar old buildings and the strange new shops, eyes wide and full up with more emotions than Sera can count; she’s beautiful and tragic at the same time, and the sight of her stills every one of Sera’s instincts, every last part of her that wants to run. Makes her want to stay, almost, makes her want to hold her hand. Makes her want to be the one to whisper in someone else’s ear, _‘you’re not alone’_.

Impossible, how fast she finds herself spun around. So fast she’s almost dizzy.

“It’s weird,” she says, because that’s all the sense she can make right now.

“Indeed it is.”

Leliana sounds weird too, very far away, so Sera tries to bring her back, pushing as gently as she can. “Different, yeah? Different… but kind of the same too?”

Sounds stupid, put like that, but Leliana nods like it’s a whole world of wisdom. “Yes. I know exactly what you mean.”

Sera frowns. “You do?”

“Absolutely.” Leliana frowns too, but a little more gracefully; Sera’s so defensive, but Leliana just looks puzzled, like she can’t understand why. “So much hasn’t changed at all, it seems. And yet the parts that have…” She shakes her head, like she can’t figure out whether to be awed or distraught. “Why, in places it is almost a different city entirely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” She balls her fists, digs her nails into the lines on her palms. “Yeah. Just like that. Feels… feels weird.”

“As you said.”

She smiles, though, characteristic calm cutting through the discomfort, and takes Sera’s hand. Sera flinches at the contact; she tries to pull away, but Leliana doesn’t let her. And maybe she does get it after all. Maybe she really does see what Sera’s feeling, the defensive panic, the need to be alone slamming against the part of her that wants to tell Leliana she isn’t, the violent ache to cut herself off before she can let that happen. Maybe she sees that, or at least some part of it, because even though she’s holding on real tight, there’s a pointed tenderness in the press of her fingers, the way she pulls Sera back in to her side, the way she nudges her with her hip.

 _Don’t_ , Sera thinks, but all she can manage to say is, “You okay?”

Leliana breathes in, deep and shuddery. They’re real close, touching in places, and Sera can feel the breath rattling through her, the way her muscles twitch, almost as tight as Sera’s own. She’s tense, proper tense, in a way she never lets anyone else see; she’d never let Sera see it either, but she can’t exactly hide the tics of her body when they’re touching like this. Not even Sister Nightingale can hold every part of her steady all at the same time. Something’s got to give, and Sera feels it all, every tremor, just as surely as Leliana sees the panic in her, the old wounded instincts surging up in her again, the need to survive overriding every other thought.

They’re both so different here. Different from what they are in Skyhold, and different from each other as well. Different, yeah, but kind of but the same, just like the stupid city. Sera’s taller now, for one, and the dirt that clings to her is maybe a little cleaner; she’s earned it through hard work, not just by existing. She’s proud of it now, earned that too, but at the end of the day even clean dirt is still dirt, and the rips and tears in her clothes are the same now as they were back then, just like the rips and tears hidden underneath, the marks this place left on the skin. Still there, all of that, and time changes a lot of things — shorter hair, different coloured bruises on her knees and arms — but it can’t change everything. She’s alive now, not just living but _alive_ , like she never imagined she could be, but this place has never let her forget it, never let her forget that once upon a time, right here on these streets, being alive just meant trying not to die.

Leliana’s the same way. Sera might not know what happened here, what the big-hat heroes did, tearing down an Archdemon to save the world or whatever, but she knows that the Inquisition’s Spymaster isn’t the Leliana she sees when her steely Nightingale’s eyes get soft and sad, when she’s standing next to some stupid horse in the middle of nowhere and staring at the horizon because she needs a moment to brace herself before coming back to face her past. That’s not the Shadow of Birds, the secret-keeper who hides up in the rookery and sends other people out to do her killing for her. No, the woman Sera sees now, the woman this journey has made her… that’s someone else entirely. That long-dead lay-sister, maybe, or something like it. Ten years isn’t much for some people, but it feels almost like a lifetime when she looks at Sister Nightingale and sees the ghosts of what they both used to be.

At long last, Leliana looks at her. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just fine.”

Still, though, she squeezes Sera’s hand real tight, and when she drags her into the bowels of the city, she’s careful to keep her face in shadow.

*

“Frigging hate crowds.”

Leliana turns, lips quirking upwards. Sounds almost normal when she squints into her face and says, “Oh?”

Sera grimaces, twitches away from the scrutiny. They’re packed in, jostled by dicks and nobles on every side, and she’s starting to feel trapped. Leliana’s not helping, studying her like that, though she probably imagines she is. Trying to ground her or some such shite, remind her that she’s there, that they’re in this together, that there’s no reason to be uncomfortable. Really not working, though, and it takes more effort than she’d ever admit to keep from pulling her hand back and running away after all.

Doesn’t, though. Just takes a breath and tries to clarify. “Well. Not really the crowds, I guess. That’s just noise. Shitty noise, yeah, but still just noise. It’s just… so many frigging _people_ , yeah? Always pointing and sneering, like they’re so much better than you just because they’ve got a fancy hat.” She shudders; this is personal shit, more so than it sounds, and she feels very vulnerable. “Hate it.”

Leliana smiles. It’s a sober smile, like she understands the weight of what Sera’s saying, what it means to open up, but can’t quite hide her amusement.

“If I didn’t know better,” she says, voice light, “I’d think you were describing Val Royeaux.”

“Same bloody thing, innit?” Sera huffs. “Same shit everywhere, just comes in different flavours.”

Thinks about that for a moment, only really realises how bloody true it is when she finds herself ducking away from a passing pisshead, bracing by pure reflex for a blow that never comes. Hisses curses through her teeth when she straightens up, hating everyone and everything.

“Apparently so,” Leliana says, very quietly.

“Right,” Sera snaps, angry and upset. “At least in pissing Val Royeaux, the bastards got some frigging manners. In Denerim, they’d sooner kick you in the face than whisper behind your back.”

“I would’ve thought you’d prefer it that way.”

Sera blinks, because honestly that’s a really frigging weird conclusion to draw, and it doesn’t help one bit that she sounds totally serious. “You frigging daft?”

“Not at all. Whispers and sneers are so impersonal, so crude…”

Sera chokes out a bitter laugh. “Says the frigging secret-keeper. Crude and impersonal is kind of your Game, innit?”

Deliberate choice of words, there, and Leliana picks up on it with a laugh. “A fair point,” she says. “But surely you must concede mine as well. Surely you, of all people, would prefer someone to to confront you directly… in the face, as you say… than hide behind a smile and lash out the moment your back is turned?”

It rubs Sera the wrong way, the way she says it. She really doesn’t know, doesn’t have a bloody clue. Spent so long playing Games with her stupid noble friends, doesn’t have the first idea of what it’s like when things aren’t so civilised. Directly, yeah, but at least whispers and sneers don’t break bones. At least they don’t leave you bruised and bloody and battered. It makes her eyes sting, thinking about it, makes her itch under her skin and scout the shadows for a safe shadow to hide in.

“Frigging _no_.” Comes out hard, but she doesn’t apologise like Leliana would. “You ever been punched in the face by some prick five times your size? Got the shit kicked out of you because he thought you were looking at him funny? Taken a beating just for having _ears_?”

Leliana’s smile fades a little, but not completely. “Not recently, no…”

“Well, there you go, then. Don’t talk piss about stuff you don’t know.”

She’s not really angry, at least not in the way her voice makes it sound, but it helps to pretend that she is. Calms the rest of her, the buzzing in her head and the itching under her skin, helps her to look away from the shadowed alleys, the dark corners that look more like home than these crowded streets ever will. Helps her to unclench her fingers, ease a little of the tension where she squeezes the leather of Leliana’s glove, helps her to close her eyes for a second or two and remember how to breathe.

Leliana sighs, but doesn’t argue. Points for that, big ones.

“Come,” she says instead, changing the subject in her usual smooth-as-silk way. “I want to see if the market has changed since I was last here.”

Sera blinks her surprise. “Really? All the places you could look around, and you want to go shopping?”

Leliana laughs. It’s a long, loud laugh, the kind that says _‘you don’t know me very well, do you?’_. Worth the way it makes Sera flush, the embarrassment, because for about half a second, she actually looks happy.

“I like shoes,” she says, real simple, like it makes any kind of frigging sense.

Not that it really matters if it makes sense or not, Sera supposes, because it’s clearly just an excuse. Shoes or no shoes, Leliana’s putting off her own pain, trying to cover over the parts that make her eyes wet, focusing in on the fun stuff, the stuff that might make her feel good. Obvious as anything, that, but what’s the harm if it makes this easier?

So, then. Off they go. Or, more accurately, off goes Leliana, and Sera ends up mostly getting dragged along like a puppy.

Leliana’s in her element as she weaves her way through the throng, mumbling all sorts of shite about shoes and colours and how Ferelden fashions are so _gauche_ , whatever the fuck that means, and how they could stand to learn so much from the Orlesians if only they weren’t so stubborn. Sera, for her part is all but lost, drowning in a sea of words she doesn’t understand, but, hey, at least Leliana’s distracted, right? Talking shit, looking at shit, pretending that they’re in any old city, any one that isn’t _this_ one; it’s all good if it helps. Sera’s never been big on denial or whatever, but if it helps Leliana to work through some of her shit, then who is she to burst that bubble?

Of course, Sera has her own shit too, and being in close quarters with so many merchants really isn’t helping. Doesn’t realise that quick enough, though, and by the time it hits it’s too frigging late.

Honestly, she doesn’t even know why she does it. Leliana is distracted, or needs to be, and Sera kind of feels like she’s supposed to be helping with that. Keeping her occupied, paying attention while she rambles on about shoes, whatever she needs. And, yeah, she wants to do that. Like, really honestly wants to. Wants to actually listen to all that fashion bullshit, wants to actually be interested, or at least pretend to be interested, when Leliana tells her about this merchant that she used to know or that emporium that’s gone now or whatever happens to catch her eye in a given moment. She wants pay attention, wants to be there, here, present… but she’s not, because all she can think about is how easy it would be to just reach out and _take_.

It’s like a red haze, a ringing in her ears and a buzzing in her brain. Goes beyond thinking, beyond feeling, beyond anything she can put a name to. It’s just _there_ , overwhelming and completely out of her control.

She doesn’t even want to do it. Not here, not now. Leliana’s by her side, and Sera knows it’s the last thing she needs, the last thing either of them needs. Doesn’t want to ruin this, ruin _them_. Doesn’t want to shatter all that stuff that’s hanging so delicate on the air, the stuff she’s still so scared of, not when she’s almost starting to believe in it. All this crap about caring and reaching out and whatever. She’s so damn close to really believing in it, and the last thing in the whole frigging world she wants is to screw it all up with some stupid shit like this.

So, yeah. She really doesn’t want to do it, like desperately doesn’t want to, but her body’s just not listening. Palms slick with sweat, head spinning, heart pounding; she recognises it all too well, and she tries to make it stop, tries so frigging hard to ignore it, but she can’t, she can’t, she can’t.

Reach out. Reach out. _Take_.

Keeps it small, of course. Simple stuff, like some idiot kid learning this shit for the first time. Petty, yeah, but she needs it to breathe, needs it in a way she can’t explain, can’t describe. A place like this, ripe for the pickings, like Val Royeaux on a good day, and for as long as she’s locked in on what she’s doing the whole bloody world disappears. The Inquisition, Coryphanus Leliana, all of it, like they never existed at all, like she never left Denerim at all. It’s like she’s always been here, a whole life pissed away in this pissing city.

It’s easy. So easy it almost hurts. There’s plenty of little food stalls in the market square, and Leliana’s so bloody preoccupied that they stroll past almost every one; it’s so damn easy to sneak fruits or sweets or those little bread things that only keep for like a day or something, so easy to swipe bits and pieces of everything. Little things, yeah, but they add up real fast. Always do, don’t they? Her pockets are close to overflowing before they’re even halfway across the square, and it’s kind of a comfort to know how easily she can slip back into this. A comfort, and a pain too.

Relieved that she still can, sure, but she hates herself for doing it. She’s letting down Leliana, for one, and no doubt others too; she can practically hear Milady Josie in the back of her head yelling about decorum or etiquette or whatever. Hates herself so much, she really does, but she can’t stop. Wants to, tries to, but she can’t frigging stop.

_Just one more. Just one more. Just one more._

That’s when Leliana grabs her wrist.

“What—”

“Nothing!” It comes out as a squeak panicked and horribly guilty, but she doesn’t care. Leliana won’t understand anyway, so what’s the point in even trying? “Just a bit of fun, yeah? No big deal, not unless you make it one.”

Leliana sighs, because of course she’s going to make it one, and tightens her grip. “Sera.”

The name strikes hard. Not like others in the Inquisition say it, like an insult, but in that weird soft-sweet way that only Leliana says it. _Sera_ , like she wants to touch her, wants to hold her, wants to reach right inside of her and pull the bad things out. _Sera_ , and her instincts kick in like lightning striking open water, sharp and inescapable.

She flinches, yanks her arm free, violent and feral. Wants to confront this, confront her, confront every frigging second that led up to this one. Wants to say shit like _‘you’ll never understand’_ or _‘mind your own frigging business’_ or something like that, something with bite. Wants to get all aggressive, hunch her shoulders and bare her teeth, make Leliana back down, back off, back away. And, yeah, maybe ten years ago she would have done all that. Young, dumb, and her knuckles were already bruised and bloody; what difference would it make to take another couple of knocks?

But this isn’t ten years ago, is it? It’s _now_ and it’s _Leliana_ , and everything’s bloody changed. She’s not mad at Leliana, not really, and as desperately as she tries to cling to the anger and the hate that got her through encounters like this in the past, it doesn’t ring the same way. It’s not true, not even a little, and it’s so hard to keep up the momentum when every fibre of her being aches to back down. This isn’t then, Leliana isn’t _them_ ; she’s not accusing, Sera can see, she’s begging to understand, and the guilt and shame seethe in her stomach like sweet wine gone sour.

Hates that feeling. Hates herself for getting into this mess, but hates the situation too. Hates that it’s not simple, not straightforward, that it’s nothing like it used to be. Makes her angry, but it makes her scared too, chest going tight across her ribs, throat closing right up until she can’t talk, can’t even try to explain even if she wanted to. Not that it matters, really, because what would she say even if she could?

And then she’s backing away. More instincts, more reflexes, more old habits that just won’t die driving her backwards before she has the chance to try and stop them. Stupid, yeah, but it’s got to be better than the alternative. Got to be better than sticking around, letting Leliana look at her like that, feeling the shame and the frustration slamming against her like waves against a dam wall. Bad enough if she’d just shook her head, or yelled at her like Milady Josie would have; bad enough if she’d told her she’s a terrible person, called her worthless and awful, said that she needs to be punished. Bad enough, sure, but Sera knows all that already. What damage can shit like that do now, when she’s been carrying it around as long as she’s been able to walk?

No, it’s the look on her face that breaks her. It’s familiar, and that makes it terrifying. She’s looking at her like she’s more than just a thief, more than just a criminal, like she’s something sad and small, a wretched little thing that needs pity not punishment, like one of her precious birds with a broken wing. That’s worse; that’s the frigging worst. Compassion, sympathy, and that awful voice in the back of her head, shadows of things she doesn’t want to remember, words she doesn’t want to hear, _’I’ll take you in’_ and _‘I’ll take care of you’_ and _‘you won’t ever have to do this again’_.

Can’t let that happen. Can’t go through that shit again. Can’t, won’t, _can’t_.

 _No,_ she thinks, angry and scared and trapped. _No, no, no, you don’t get to look at me like that, you don’t get to talk to me like that, you’re not my friend, you’re not my—_

She runs.

*

Back again, and it’s like she never left at all.

It’s the same old shit on a different day, innit? Huddled in dark corners, clutching her latest prizes to her chest, waiting for the adrenaline to burn itself out, for her heart to stop pounding so she can shove the good stuff into her mouth, swallow it down real fast so they won’t take it away when they catch her. Easy to become what she was when it’s here, and she feels much smaller than she is; not just younger, but tighter as well, if that’s even a thing. Feels like her whole body has shrunk down, become a child’s again, like she’s lost all the things she’s learned and earned since she left this place. She can eat more now than she ever could when she was little, but her belly gets tight so much faster.

She’s shaking, hands all but useless as she tears at the bread with her teeth. It’s a little tasteless, proper Ferelden shite, nothing like those sweet Orlesian breads. Those things come out like cakes, taste like dessert even when she eats them first; never got used to that, sweetness going down first, but this stuff is proper bread, rough and strong, proper people’s bread. It tastes like this place, like Denerim, and that makes her feel weird, makes her tongue twitch over the crumbs. Shouldn’t be possible, piss like that, should it? Places don’t have flavour, but the more she swallows the harder it is to remember that she ever got out of here. Tastes of Denerim, of Ferelden; she can’t explain it better than that, can’t understand it. All she knows is that suddenly, Val Royeaux seems impossibly far away.

Her guts start to clench around halfway through. Been too long since she ate like this, ate _Ferelden_ , and she’s not used to it. Not used to the flavour, the stuff they put in it, not used to being in an alley instead of a fortress; makes her queasy a little too fast, but she doesn’t care and she sure as shit doesn’t stop. Doesn’t matter, a little bellyache, not with all that other stuff hanging over her head. Not about food, is it? She’s making a frigging point. Ferelden or Orlais, it doesn’t matter: they won’t take this away. She won’t bloody let them.

So she keeps going, stuffs her face until it’s almost gone, until there’s nothing left but a cookie. That’s her limit, that right there, and the sight of it stops her dead in her tracks. Can eat until she damn near explodes, given half a chance, but she can’t eat that. Won’t. Not here, not now. Even just looking at it is enough to make her feel sick, like really proper sick, and the tightness in her belly twists itself up into something else, something awful.

Stupid as anything, that. Been how long now? Frigging _years_ , and she still can’t look at a stupid cookie without feeling like shit.

She yells. That’s stupid too, and she knows it, but she doesn’t care. Too angry too care, too violent, and way too small. Small, yeah, and so she lashes out like something big, yelling her lungs out, howling like something wild and trapped. Tosses the stupid cookie out into the street, out of her dark little corner, out of her safe space, out of her frigging life.

Hides even harder after that. Curls up as small as she can, channels her memories of being even smaller, of being helpless and scared. Curls up and hugs herself, arms clamped around her stomach and knees pulled up to her chest. Rides out the unpleasant fullness, the cramps and clenching of too much crappy food bolted down too fast. Closes her eyes to make things easier, and tries real hard not to imagine she’s back at Skyhold, in the rookery; too clear in her head, remembering the way Leliana tried to talk to her, the way Sera lashed out, shouted and ran away.

Can’t think about that now. The rookery, yeah, but Skyhold in general too. Can’t think about that place or the people, the ones who reach out instead of rejecting. Might be happy there if she let herself, might have a home at last, in a place far away from sodding Denerim, might have a hearth that doesn’t hurt, a life where well-intentioned baked goods don’t make her feel like shit.

She groans, pretends that the sick feeling is in her stomach and not some place harder to reach.

“Drop something?”

Another groan, louder this time, as the stupid misshapen cookie lands next to her head. Got to be Leliana that threw it, of course; who else would delight in torturing her like this? Sister Nightingale, with her stupid birds and her stupid face, her stupid sweet softness and the way she never yells even when Sera desperately wants her to, even when she wants someone to hate her as much as she hates herself.

She hunches forwards, grabs the cookie in her fist, squishes it until it’s less than crumbs. “Piss off.”

Leliana sighs. Resigned, like she was expecting that. “Come now,” she says, and crouches down beside her. “You know I can’t do that. Why, the look on Josephine’s face alone would do me in faster than a dozen assassins. She’d be so _disappointed_.” She gasps, all dramatic, like that’s the worst thing she can think of. “We can’t have that, now, can we?”

“Why not?”

The petulance is a bonus, but the question itself is sincere; to someone like Sera, disappointment is practically a second skin. It makes Leliana sigh again, though, and she supposes she should feel some triumph in that. It’s less resignation this time, more weariness. Makes her sound old, and that makes Sera feel young again; hard to feel triumphant when you feel like a brat.

“A good question.” She sounds almost sad. “Truthfully? I don’t have many friends left, and I do not want to upset the few that remain. Sentimental, I suppose, but then perhaps I’ve not changed as much as I like to imagine.”

“Bit pointless, worrying about shite like that,” Sera huffs. “Milady Prissy-Pants wears ‘upset’ like one of her fancy perfumes. Wouldn’t waste it on the likes of this.”

“Sera.”

She actually sounds angry, there, like that hit below the belt. _Well, good_ , Sera thinks, vicious and spiteful. Anger and frustration is better than all that sickly-sweet compassion. Can’t swallow any more of that right now, feeling as shit as she does, but pissed-off and self-righteous goes down easy as anything.

“What?” She’s pushing on purpose, and no doubt Leliana knows it. “Don’t act like it’s not bloody true. Ruffle-loving tit, she’d be over the frigging moon if you just left me here to rot. ‘Upset’, my arse; it’d save her the trouble of yelling at me or figuring out how to deal with me or whatever project she’s got planned for when we get back. Save her a whole frigging mess of trouble, wouldn’t it?” Bites her lip real hard, lets the physical pain choke out the blow of what comes next. “Save _everyone_ the trouble.”

And there it is, the blow. Flashes like lightning burning right through her. Tastes like blood in her mouth, metallic and sharp, like magic bubbling in her veins. It’s the same sick feeling she felt before, the kind that isn’t really in her stomach at all, the kind that starts higher up, behind her ribs, in places she doesn’t want to think about. Places she kind of wishes she didn’t have at all.

“Sera.” Leliana’s anger is gone in a flash, more’s the pity, and in its place is another oversized helping of that sickly-sweet compassionate shite. “Have we not been through this already?”

“Probably,” Sera mutters, and doesn’t add that it doesn’t matter, that they can go through it a thousand times and it’ll never truly sink in. “So what?”

Leliana shakes her head, like she realises it’s pointless to pursue this line. “Indeed. No matter. Let us focus on the issue more directly at hand.”

She means _this_ , the alley and the stealing and the fact that Sera’s probably turning green again. All of it, and all the thousands of ways she’ll never understand. Sera’s already bristling, already bracing for a fight, and she hates the way her teeth grind together when she mutters, “Fine.”

Leliana accepts the invitation, presses on like a teacher dealing with a troublesome kid. “You must know by now that acting out won’t do you any good. You can’t simply push people away and expect them to stop trying.”

“Why not?” She sits up, glares. “S’what _you_ do, innit?”

That hits a nerve, she can tell, and Leliana actually flinches. “Absolutely not.”

“Right. Sure. Course not. Because you’re _normal_ , right?” She tries to laugh, but her throat feels dry and thick from too much food and not enough water, and there’s a sour taste in the back of her mouth that warns against violent outbursts. “Normal to hide in the shadows, yeah? Normal to put locks on everything, make sure no-one else ever gets in. Normal to spend your whole frigging life playing stupid spy games with stupid bloody birds. Totally frigging normal.”

“Sera!”

“Oh, piss off.” Sour taste or no sour taste, this shit deserves an outburst, and she gives it. “You don’t get to yell at me like I’m worse-off than you. You don’t get to tell me how to be normal when you’re exactly the frigging same. You don’t get to lock yourself up all safe and comfy or whatever, then tell me that I’m some kind of… that I’m the baddie for trying to hide when shit hurts. And you… you sure as shit don’t get to pretend you know what’s ‘good’ for me. You’re not… you’re not…”

And just like that, the sour taste isn’t so sour any more. It’s sweet, too frigging sweet, sugar and flour and a plate full of cookies. Worse than sour, that, and she fights to keep from choking on it. Hates it, hates everything, hates—

“No.” Cuts through everything, that does, keen as an assassin’s blade. “I’m not. And you don’t need me to be.”

Sera’s shaking, inside as much as outside. “Bloody right,” she chokes out. “Don’t need nothing. Don’t need…”

“Indeed,” Leliana says, soft but pointed as a dagger. “You don’t need a great many things. For example, you don’t need to keep stealing like this. You know I would have gladly bought anything you wanted, if you’d only asked. I would never begrudge you a meal if you were hungry…”

“Wasn’t.” Her guts gurgle their agreement, and she swallows hard to try and calm them. “Wasn’t hungry.”

But, of course, Leliana already knows that. Smiles, like Sera’s just proved her bloody point. “Another thing you did not need, then. And yet here we are again.” She holds out a hand, but, stops short of actually touching her. “Why do you think that is?”

Sera huffs, stubborn. “Dunno. You tell me.”

“I would not deign to know you. As you say, I do not. But perhaps we could run through it together, yes?”

Sounds like a trap, but it’s hard to argue when she sounds so frigging reasonable, when she makes out like it would be the stupidest thing in the world to turn her down. “Whatever.”

Leliana’s smile widens, teeth sharp and white. She stretches out her legs, makes herself comfortable. “Very well, then. Let us presume, for a moment, that we’re as alike as you think we are. It may make it easier to see these things as _ours_ rather than simply _yours_ , no?”

Sera swallows hard. Doesn’t want to admit how much that really does help. “If you say so.”

Leliana doesn’t say _‘I do say so’_ , or any of that shite. She just presses on as if Sera hadn’t said anything at all. “So, then. We both seek out shadows to hide in, both surround ourselves with familiar things, both keep distances from those who would reach out to us. Right or wrong, these are the things we do. I send out my agents to do the deeds I myself can no longer bear, and you steal things that others would willingly give. As you say, we are alike in that.”

“Right.”

“Yes. So then, let us ask ourselves why. Why do we do these things? Why shroud ourselves in shadows? Why push away anyone who tries to come close?”

Sera balls her fists to keep them from shaking, gripping the fabric of her shirt between her fingers. She knows why, and so does Leliana, but it still hurts like dying to say it out loud.

“Safe.” The word burns. “The shadows and shit. It’s… it’s _safe_.”

“Yes.” Leliana smiles again, almost glowing, like she’s proud, like Sera has made her proud. Twists like nausea, the way she doesn’t hate that. “We harden our hearts, turn away anyone who tries to reach out, keep our distance from the world that hurt us, or the people we might hurt in turn. For their sakes or for our own, selfish or selfless, the result is the same. We tell ourselves the shadows protect everyone. Us, them… it is better for everyone if people like us remain hidden.”

Even clenched into iron fists, her hands are shaking, smooshed-up cookie crumbs sticking to her fingers like things she can’t forget. “They don’t understand,” she whispers. “They don’t…”

Leliana nods. She’s not really agreeing, Sera can tell, more like questioning. Goading her, probably, into giving up more than she’s comfortable with. It’s a leading nod, like _‘oh, why don’t you elaborate on that?’_ or some such shite, and Sera knows that it’s a trap, knows that Leliana’s just trying to make her spill her guts, make her pour out all her stupid feelings. Knows it, frigging knows it, but it’s more than she can do to keep from rising to the bait; the pain’s already out there, poured out with the words, and she can’t stop herself from running with it, tearing it out of her, more and more and more, shoving it right in the sodding Nightingale’s face.

“They don’t frigging _understand_!” Louder, this time. Violent, hateful. “They feed you crap like _‘you’re safe’_ or _‘you don’t have to do that stuff any more’_ or _‘you can trust me’_ , but it’s all frigging bullshit. You’re not safe. You never… you never were. And you can’t bloody trust them, can you? Can’t. So, yeah, you _do_ have to do that stuff. You do. You have to hide, have to stay in the shadows, because that _is_ safe. You know it is, because you’ve been there, because they kept you alive before, and you know it. You know it, but they don’t, and they can’t get to you when you’re there. Can’t get in your head, can’t make you believe that shit, can’t make you wish it was true. So you have to. Have to steal and eat and hide, have to stay in the shadows. You have to. You frigging _have to_ , because… because…”

Leliana touches her hand, leather-worn gloves pressing down over her shaking knuckles. “Because…?”

“Because you’ll frigging _forget_!” It’s a choked-out sob, desperate and beyond terrified. “You’ll forget where they are. The shadows, the dark places where no-one else can find you. You’ll forget how to keep yourself safe, forget where to hide, how to eat and steal, how to frigging _survive_. You’ll forget how to be _you_. You’ll forget what you are, and then… and then that’s it, innit? It’s all you got, _you_. You lose that, you lose everything. And you can’t… you can’t let that happen, yeah? Because if you do… if you do, then it’s all over. It’s over, gone, everything you were, everything you are, _everything_. All gone. Gone, and then you’re nothing. Just because you forgot.” 

“You’re not…” Leliana starts, but catches herself, stops short of properly interrupting. “No. Yes. Please, continue.”

Sera shakes her head. What more does she bloody want? “So you have to, yeah? Have to keep doing it. Have to remember that all the other stuff is lies and bullshit. Have to remember that you’re not safe, not never, not unless you’re _here_ , in the dark and the shit and the shadows. It’s the only place, the only place where you know what you are, the only place in the whole frigging world where everything’s safe and true and real. It’s the only place, _the only place_ , and you have to… you frigging _have to_ …”

She’s pulling away, struggling to her feet, eyes darting in all directions. Can’t focus, can’t see straight, but she has to find an escape, another dark corner to scurry into, a new hiding place where Leliana won’t find her. Has to, even as she knows it’s futile. Leliana has her by the wrist, holding tight, and Sera’s shaking too hard to even try to break free.

“Sera.”

“Don’t.” It’s all she’s got, just one word, the only one she has left after all that, and this time it’s not enough. Useless, like spitting into the Breach or chucking rocks at Coryphenarse. “Don’t…”

Of course Leliana ignores her. She’s stronger than words this time, stronger than anything. She pulls her in, closer and closer, until they’re touching, until they’re practically hugging, until they _are_ hugging, until it’s more than Sera can do to resist the contact, resist Leliana, more than she can do not to crumple to her knees and take it.

Hurts, though. The kind of hurt that drives deep and brings out other hurts, vicious and visceral; she presses her face to Leliana’s neck, breathes in deep to block them out, but her head spins with the smell of warmth and fire and comfort, the smell of _cookies_ , bitter and hateful like the one she threw away, soft and squishy like the thing that Leliana gave back. It’s smashed to nothing now, stupid sticky crumbs still clinging to her fingers, but the memory can’t get squashed or broken so easily.

It makes her feel sick. The hurt, the memory, the smell, all of it. Sick like she’s going to puke, sure, but the other kind of sick as well, the kind that’s more heart-sick than stomach-sick.

She pulls back, sharp and sudden. “Shit.”

Leliana frowns, like she can see the discomfort in her, like she knows exactly where it’s coming from. “Sera.”

It’s been years too since her name sounded like that, years. Years since it sounded like something pretty, like something worthwhile. Years since she let herself believe that it might mean something.

“Don’t,” she says again, and it sounds like _please_.

Leliana can’t possibly know what she’s asking for, what she’s talking about, but still she nods like she does, still she says, “I won’t.”

“Good.” Sera breathes through her nose, drives down the stomach-sickness until the only thing left is her queasy heart. “Good, yeah.”

“Indeed.” A nod, or just the start of one. “But you…” She sighs, squeezes Sera’s shoulder. “Ah, Sera. What shall we do with ourselves? We are not so alike as you think, but perhaps we’re not so unalike as I believe either.”

“What’re you on about?” She’s growling, voice rasping and caught in her throat. “Can’t bloody well have it both ways.”

“No, but…” She leans in, lets her fingers trail up to cup Sera’s jaw, thumb nestled at the corner of her mouth, just shy of a caress. “I can’t tell you that the world is safe. You wouldn’t believe me, and in any case I scarcely believe it myself any more. You were… not wrong… when you said it is not my place to tell you what to do. As you say, we both seek out the same shadows, and with more or less the same reasons. You are afraid of trusting, Sera, while I… I am afraid of being trusted.”

Her voice hitches on that last word, like a real proper hitch, like she’s never said this before, not out loud, not where anyone can hear. Sera forces back the kick in her own chest, the empathy hammering like a drum. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Sounds like she wants to leave it there, like the affirmation is an underline on the whole thing. Sera supposes she can’t blame her for that; given the choice, she wouldn’t be dwelling on her own shit either. But this is important, or at least it feels that way, and for once she finds she’d sooner brave the bright lights than retreat back where it’s safe and dark and alone.

“So,” she manages. “Uh…”

Leliana hums, a thoughtful little sound. She leans back a little, lets Sera retreat a little further. “So, then…” She sounds almost like she’s talking to herself, or maybe she wants Sera to think she is, like she knows it’ll be easier for them both if it’s just some thinking-out-loud crap. “Perhaps we might help each other, yes? For all that we don’t have in common, perhaps there is enough that we do.”

“Yeah?” Sera twists the fabric of her shirt in her fists; it’s the only thing keeping her here, keeping her from losing her courage and bolting again. “Like what?” 

Leliana shrugs. “For a start,” she says, “neither of us feels particularly comfortable in the light. We dwell in the dark corners, you and I, and we have both learned too many times the dangers of stepping outside the spaces we know to be safe. It’s not much, true, but as a start…”

Sera rolls her eyes. “A start,” she echoes, dull and flat, mostly because Leliana’s looking at her like she wants her to say something.

“Indeed. As good a one as any, yes? If we are to try and reach beyond our comfort zones…” She spreads her arms, like she’s coming up with this shite on the spot, like she’s not thought every last word out from beginning to end, like she’s not a bloody genius. “Well. Could either one of us ask for a better companion for such a task? Who better to stand by your side as you step out from your shadows than someone who knows precisely where to find them again?”

Sera blinks. She’s never really thought about it that way. Leliana’s always been too similar to judge her, but not similar enough that she’d actually look deeper and see echoes of herself. Only when it suits her, only when she can use it as fuel for a fight. Not like this. Not for, like, something _positive_. Weird shit, that, and it makes her insides squirm.

Fact is, staying out of the shadows is some scary shit. Being visible, being seen, opening herself up to get kicked in the face or force-fed sweet-tasting lies until she’s too full to fight back. It terrifies her, even just thinking about it, on a level that doesn’t make sense. It _really_ doesn’t make sense, because she knows she’s tougher than that now. She’s bigger, braver; she can protect herself, can fight back against pretty much anything. It’s been a long time since she’s needed to be as scared as she is, and yet she’s frightened half to death, just thinking of leaving herself open, letting the light in, letting other people see the places where she’s soft and small.

But then, maybe Leliana’s right about that. Or, well, sort-of right, anyway. Scary, yeah, but safer to let all that shit out with her than anyone else, yeah? Safer because they’re both shadow-people, because they both get it. Sera’s nerves light up, and Leliana takes her by the hand because she knows that she’s itching to run. Leliana’s face goes soft, and Sera knows she’s thinking of pulling that cloak of birds around herself and disappearing. It’s not a connection, not really, but they both understand those instincts. They both know what’s safe and what’s not, know where and when and how to hide.

And, well, yeah. Who better? If she’s going to inch her way out of the alleys and the dark corners, who better to hold her hand than someone who can lead her back to the shadows if she needs to? Who better to keep her safe than someone who needs the same safety herself? Sera may be scared out of her mind, hungry and desperate and all that shit that people like her live on, but Leliana’s got her own shit too, loss and loneliness and all the rest, and maybe Sera can help with that as well. Similar, yeah, if not the same, and why not? All this way back to frigging Denerim, the ghosts bearing down on them both. Don’t they at least owe it to themselves to _try_?

It takes everything she has not to run again. Takes everything she has to, but she does it. Straightens up, closes her her eyes, leans in as Leliana opens her arms, lets her pull her in close, lets her hug her…

…and hugs _back_.

*

It’s less awful this time, getting swallowed by the crowd.

Leliana holds her hand again, but it’s not like before. She’s not dragging her around like a puppy this time, not acting like she doesn’t trust Sera not to run away, doesn’t trust her not to get herself in trouble. It feels a little more equal now, like they’re in this together, like Leliana needs the contact as much as Sera does.

In any case, it makes Sera feel safer. Feels like looking into a mirror, watching Leliana’s eyes lock on the horizon, catching the way they get a little darker. Feels like maybe Sera’s not the only one getting intimidated by this place, these people, all the shit it dredges up inside of her, like maybe Leliana can’t hide behind shoes any more than Sera can hide behind stealing. Comforting, that, in a way she didn’t expect.

Strength in numbers, yeah? The heavy shit isn’t so unbearable when they’re both straining under the weight. The hard stuff isn’t so overwhelming when she can just look up and see the same struggles on Leliana’s face, feel the same shit radiating off her. Like she said, even in the places they’re different, it’s easier to stick together, easier to look at each other and know that they’re both in the same place, that the shadows are still close by.

Easier, too, at least for Sera, that they keep a wide berth from the merchants this time; easier to ignore the itching in her fingers, the twitching in her legs and shoulders. Wants to, yeah, but wanting’s not the same as needing. Not the same; before, it was right there in her bones, her nerves, her blood, and now it’s just a twinge in her gut. Easy, that; if there’s one thing Sera knows how to fight, it’s a bellyache.

Still, though, her hands shake, tremors rippling under the skin. Feels like an addict, recognises in herself the way Cullen gets sometimes when he thinks no-one’s looking, and maybe she’s not as subtle as she thinks she is, because Leliana stops staring off into the distance when it gets real bad. Stops dead and looks down at her. Her eyes are narrowed, a clamour of different things swirling around inside them; they’re still darkish, still full of sad memory-shadows, but they’re focused as well, keen like one of her stupid birds. Weird, how she can be so many things at the same time. Sera wishes she could do that.

“Are you all right?” Leliana asks, but her face says she already knows the answer.

Sera bites the inside of her cheek, raises her eyes to the horizon, studies the point in the distance that Leliana seemed to find so frigging fascinating. Makes a point without words, then bares her teeth when she counters.

“Are _you_?”

“Touché.” She’s not offended; in fact, she’s almost smiling, like it’s good to have so much heavy shit in common, like being so messed up is a good thing when there’s two of them. “Perhaps we should seek out a distraction, hm?”

Sera groans. “More pissing shoes?”

“Not quite.” She laughs, though, like properly laughs, like it was actually funny; Sera feels weirdly proud of herself for that. “Actually, I was thinking of something a little… stronger.”

Sera can’t help herself; she _squeals_.

“You’re buying,” she says, real fast, before Leliana can start laughing again. Or, worse, change her mind. “I bet all those Inquisition sovereigns are just burning holes in your fancy pockets.”

Leliana chuckles. She’s got a weird look on her face, cheeks a little pink, like she thinks Sera’s enthusiasm is the cutest thing in the whole frigging world. Sera supposes she should be offended by that, so used to everyone looking down on her as they do; they always look at her like that, like she’s only there to be derided or coddled, never respected. If she does something bad, it’s _stupid_ , and if she does something good, it’s _cute_. Never just plain ‘good’ or ‘bad’, it’s got to be something special, some fancy word to make her what she’s not. Should annoy her, the way Leliana’s looking at her, but it doesn’t. Feels different, even if it’s not. Makes her shiver, anyway, and she has to work real hard not to think about why.

Besides, even if she is thinking it, at least Leliana respects her enough not to say the words. Just shakes her head and says, “It doesn’t pay as well as you might think.”

Sera, of course, doesn’t give a nug’s arse how much it pays to play with birds all day, just as long as she doesn’t have to buy the first round. “If you say so,” she shrugs. “But none of that cheap piss, you hear?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Leliana says, but Sera can tell she’s loving every second of it.

The tavern, when they get there, gives her a weird feeling. Hisses along her nerves, makes the hairs on her arms stand up. The place hasn’t changed much in the last few years, but it’s not quite the way she remembers it either. It’s got a weird in-between feeling about it, like her memory’s playing tricks on her, like she’s remembering things that were never here at all. Strange, that, but it’s hardly the first time. Does that sometimes, her stupid brain, turning things into other things, twisting memories and ideas into nonsense nothingness, and makes her dizzy when she tries to catch the threads and tie them back together.

In any case, the tavern she remembers was definitely bigger. That much, she knows for sure. She remembers being kind of intimidated, to be honest; young and dumb, she wasn’t even supposed to be there.

It was all so frigging exotic. Everything was smoky and dark, full of shady arses and drunken pissheads looking for an excuse to bash some poor bastard’s head in. She remembers creeping in as quiet as she could, sticking to the shadows so they wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t notice her ears. Easy pickings, someone like Sera, too small and too stupid to put up much of a fight, and no-one calls the authorities over a battered knife-ear anyway. Easy pickings, sure, but only on the days she let them catch her.

Only did that when she wanted a fight, though. Most of the time she stayed out of sight. Barkeep was always preoccupied by the punters, so it was never much of a task to sneak a bottle or two from behind the bar and slink back out into the alley. Quick and smooth as anything, she was, and got away with it way more times than she didn’t. Drank herself into a stupor more times than she can count with swill from this place, but never inside. So, yeah, little wonder that her memory’s playing tricks, that she can’t really remember. Not when all her fun was outside in those sodding shadows.

In any case, no-one thinks to bother them now. Sera pulls her kerchief up over her head, covers her ears as a force of habit, and pretends not to care when they give her funny looks.

Leliana drinks real slow. Red wine, rich and smoky, and she sips it like they’re in the middle of a frigging tea party, like Milady Josie is hanging over her shoulder telling her not to slurp or whatever. Or maybe something a little darker, maybe more like every mouthful is a test for poison. Knowing her, it probably is. Still, whatever the reason, tea-party or taste-test, it’s kind of hypnotic to watch her. The way she swirls her glass, the way the wine catches the light, the way she seems to lose herself in it… makes Sera’s head spin, it does, and not even her own drink is strong enough to do that. Lost in memory, maybe, or just thoughts; either way, it looks like a kind of spiritual experience.

For Sera, it’s pretty much the exact opposite. She drinks like she eats, hard and fast and messy, usually until she regrets it. She knocks back as much as she can take in one sitting, anything that’s put in front of her, and damn the frigging consequences. Liquor’s like food, albeit not quite so necessary; no way of knowing which cup will be her last, at what point some arse will knock it out of her hand and chase her down, so she chugs everything she gets as quick as she can. Just like with food, she won’t give them the chance to take it away.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she says, about three cups down.

Leliana, of course, is still on her first: she studies Sera over the rim of her glass, lips twitching into a smile. “Oh?”

She’s like one of her stupid birds, so neat and precise, so frigging delicate. Everything she does is like a bloody military operation, like she’s got to take an hour to plan out every frigging sip or something. Tickles down Sera’s spine, that does, and she lunges across to grab the glass out of her hands. Eases the itching in her fingers, far more than she’d care to admit.

“Look at this,” she snaps, fidgeting. “You just… what’re you waiting for?”

Leliana quirks a brow at the rudeness, but doesn’t try to take back her drink. “I was savouring it,” she says. “We don’t have many simple pleasures in life, no? This… this is one of them. Enjoying a quiet moment, a quiet drink, a quiet—”

“Piss on ‘quiet’.” Voice rough, shaking just a bit. She can’t stand all this stillness. “Drink’s for drinking.”

Punctuates the point real well by draining the rest of the glass herself. Slams it down on the bar as hard as she can when she’s done, notes a point in the tavern’s favour when it doesn’t shatter.

Leliana shakes her head, but she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t gesture the barkeep for another either, though, so Sera takes the liberty of doing it for her. Makes it harder to argue, she knows, when the stuff’s already plonked down in front of her, and what does it matter to Sera if she has to do the ordering herself, so long as Leliana’s still the one with the sovereigns?

“You’re enthusiastic,” Leliana says at last. “I’ll give you that.”

“Bloody right.” Goes right to her head, that last glass; it’s getting a little hard to think, a little hard to put the words together in lines that make sense, but Sera knows this piss like the ridges of her bow. “Have to be, innit? Could die tomorrow. Maybe will, if Coryphalamus gets his frigging way.” She shudders at the name; even butchered, it lands like a blow. Doesn’t want to think about him, about wannabe gods and demon armies and all that shit raining down on the world, so she switches tack real fast. “You don’t live fast, you end up dead before you do anything. End up—”

_Dead._

_Oh. Shite._

Realises half a second too late how stupid that is, how stupid _she_ is. Can’t take it back, too late for that, and she sucks in a pained breath when Leliana reacts. It’s bad, real bad; her whole face twists up, like she’s gotten hold of some bad meat or something, like someone’s knocked all the wind right out of her. Looks like she’s just been punched, but not anywhere anyone can see, and Sera hates herself for being so bloody stupid. Didn’t mean to do it, didn’t mean to hurt her, and the look on her face makes her feel like the biggest idiot in the whole frigging world.

“Shite,” she says aloud, hisses the word through her teeth. Her fingers are itching again, flight instincts kicking in, so she grips the edge of the table to keep from giving in to them. “I’m sorry. I’m so… I didn’t… I wasn’t… I’m…”

“Yes.” Her voice is as steady as anything Sera’s ever heard. “Yes, I quite understand.”

“No, that’s not…” She swallows down a mouthful of curses, squeezes the table until the wood cuts into her palm. “I wasn’t… shite, piss… I didn’t mean…”

“I know.” Leliana lifts the new glass, studies the colours, takes another delicate sip. Everything about her is too calm, scary calm. “But the point is valid just the same, is it not?”

She sighs, then drains the rest of the glass in one long swallow, and for a second or two Sera is so mesmerised by the line of her throat that she forgets what she’s done.

“I… uh…”

“Precisely so.” Sarcasm, but just a hint, and Sera can hear the flicker of pain underneath. “I thought that I might find some measure of peace here. Seeing the city again, returning after so many years. I thought it might help to see what it’s become, to know that her sacrifice was not in vain.” She turns her face away. “I thought seeing how well the city has recovered might allow me to recover as well, to put the past and the pain behind me, rebuild as they have. But it hasn’t. It has only reminded me, again, of everything I lost. My love, my heart… perhaps my faith as well.”

Sera stares down at the table. Wood, deep veins running through the surface; they swim a bit under the lights, or maybe that’s just the liquor swimming inside of her. “I’m sorry. I’m so…”

“Don’t be.” Hard, sharp, a blow that hits them both. “It is what it is. I can’t change it. And in truth, I don’t know that I would, even if I could. The pain runs deep, yes, but perhaps it is overdue. I’ve pushed it aside for so long, driven it down, forced it back, willed myself not to feel it. I focused on my duties, on serving the Divine and then the Inquisition, on anything I could find to keep from thinking, from feeling…” She shakes her head, sighs again, heartbreak poured out through her mouth. “It has been so long since I allowed myself to feel, and longer still since I allowed myself to feel something that was all my own.”

“That’s not good,” Sera mumbles. Ashamed, awful, but she has to try, has to make this right somehow. “Got to feel stuff, yeah? Have to, or what are you?”

Leliana bows her head, lets her hood fall forwards to shroud her face.

“A shadow,” she whispers, breathless and broken. “Nothing but a shadow.”

Sera’s breath is getting shallow, catching in her chest, and she tries not to think too hard about why. “Yeah,” she manages, sounding stronger than she feels. “And that… that’s the shit we’re trying to get away from, yeah? Shadows and whatever?”

She leans in. Stupid, that, especially right now, but Leliana doesn’t seem to mind too much. Doesn’t flinch, barely even reacts at all. Looks up, just a little, as Sera cups her face all tender and shite, thumb at her mouth, just like Leliana did back there in the alley, the shadows they crawled out from, the safe space they escaped together.

It’s the least she can do, yeah? Return the favour, offer some tactile comfort, some piss like that. Doesn’t feel so easy when she’s the one doing it, though. Doesn’t feel so sweet, so chaste, so fragile. And that’s her fault, Sera’s, because she doesn’t know how to be any of those things. Never been sweet, can’t afford to be fragile, and it’s been so long since she was chaste she’s all but forgotten what the word means. Doesn’t know how to twist her body into any of those things, doesn’t know how to offer comfort in a way that’s soft and tender, in a way that makes this stuff okay. Only knows other things, sharper and a little darker and not helpful at all.

Still, though, Leliana doesn’t pull back. She must notice the difference, the way Sera isn’t like her, the way she can’t be like her. Must feel the way her pulse is thrumming, the shudder in her breathing, but still she doesn’t pull back. She just leans into the contact like it’s everything she’s ever wanted, everything she’s craving, like these are the feelings she’s fighting, the pain that’s pulling at her, like maybe sweet and chaste and fragile doesn’t help as much as dark and sharp and _Sera_.

“Yes,” she says. Hazy, distracted, but so present when she turns to touch her lips to Sera’s palm. “Yes. Exactly so.”

Sera swallows, bites her lip. “So let yourself, yeah?” An invitation, maybe, or something else. “Feel. For you. Just…”

But she stops. Has to, doesn’t she? Frigging has to, because even she isn’t that stupid, and even after four cups of piss-tasting liquor she’s not that damn drunk. Has to because it’s Leliana, Sister frigging Nightingale, the Shadow of bloody Birds, because she’s everything that Sera isn’t. She has so many names, Leliana, so many names; meanwhile, stupid Sera doesn’t even know if hers ever really belonged to her at all.

So, yeah. Stops. Stops because it’s not hers, because it’s Leliana’s; her pain, her feelings, her everything, and Sera doesn’t deserve to taste them. Stops because she’s nothing, because she’s small and stupid, because she’s no-one, just some worthless knife-ear, some stupid flat-ear, some ragged little girl scratching and scrambling to get off the streets, out of the dirt and the alleys, out of the frigging _shadows_. Stops because she’s not good enough, not worth enough, because she’s nothing, nobody, _nothing_. Stops because Leliana is none of those things, because she’s everything.

Stops. A thousand reasons why, and none of them are the least bit important. Only thing that is, only thing that matters is that she _stops_.

But Leliana doesn’t.

Sera’s the one pulling back, the one choking on her breath, trying to be smart and sensible, all those things that don’t fit in her head, all those things she’s never been before. Trying to be better, trying to be more, trying to be everything Leliana says she sees in her. Trying, yeah, but what’s she supposed to do when Leliana’s leaning in? What’s she supposed to do? She’s closing the space that seems so frigging important, Leliana is, efficient as always, filling up the whole wide world with her face, her eyes, the tears still wet on both, filling it up with _her_ , filling it up until Sera can’t even remember why she tried to stop.

Everything disappears. Leliana’s so close, so impossible, so _close_ … close, then closer, and then that’s it, it’s over, and Sera can’t stop something that’s already started, can’t try when she can’t think, can’t do anything but take and gasp and breathe her in. 

There’s wine on her lips, on both their lips, sweet and strong and sad all at the same time. Sera gasps, mouth half-open, little whimpers shaking in her throat; it floods her tongue, the taste of it, but it’s not just wine, it’s _her_ , it’s Leliana, rich and beautiful and tragic. Incredible, unfathomable, and Sera wonders if she tastes the same, if Leliana can taste the pain in her as well, the anger and the fear and the sharp edges that scream _survival_ , all the horrible things that made her into this thing, this sort-of woman that she’s kissing and touching and tasting. Wonders if that’s why she’s gasping too, Leliana, ragged little sounds against the roof of her mouth, echoes of the ragged little thing she used to be. Wonders if Leliana can taste all that in her, if she can taste _Sera_ like Sera can taste her, the pain and the sorrow and the struggling, everything she hides in the shadows, everything they both do. Wonders if—

“Yes,” Leliana whispers, like an answer to all those questions, and that’s all Sera needs to hear.

 _Yes_ , she thinks, and closes her eyes.

*


	5. Chapter 5

*

It’s Leliana who pulls back.

She’s breathless and bright-eyed, and for a long moment she doesn’t say anything. Hard to tell if she’s being coy, playing it subtle or whatever, or if she’s just waiting for Sera to say something first. Maybe wants her to be the one to say what a bad idea it is, how stupid they are, blame it on the wine or the moment, on bloody frigging Denerim and everything that means for them both.

Doesn’t know her very well, then, does she? Not if that’s what she’s expecting; Sera’s never been the kind to dwell on regrets, and she’s sure as shit not about to start now. Licks her lips, she does, all slow and thoughtful and shit, like she’s trying to be more like Leliana, more like the kind of person who has the time and the brains to find exactly the right words at exactly the right moment.

Pointless, all that crap, because instead of saying something clever and witty and thought-provoking, some saucy something like _‘oh, well, oops’_ or _‘so, that happened’_ , what comes out instead is, “I bite your tongue or something?”

Makes her blush harder than the taste of Leliana’s tongue, the way she blurts it out, but at least it makes Leliana laugh. Or, well, sort-of laugh anyway; it’s a husky sort of half-laugh, all vague and weird, but at least it’s something, and Sera supposes she should take the victory for what it is.

“No,” Leliana says after a moment. “Of course not.”

 _Good to know,_ Sera thinks. “So, then, what?”

Knows the answer to that already, though, doesn’t she? Like she hasn’t been here a thousand times before, some fancy-pants pretty girl whimpering into her mouth then coming back to herself and realising who — or, well, _what_ — she’s getting down and dirty with. Little different now, what with Leliana’s history and all, but hey. Sera’s not much of a prize, she knows, and there’s no chance she can hold a candle to the Hero of Fereldan, the grief and loss and pain she can still taste along the edge of her tongue. _What?_ Stupid question when the answer’s as clear as daylight and as shitty as her own stupid face.

“This,” Leliana says, like keeping it brief will make it hurt less. “ _Here_ …”

Sera swallows. Knows this taste, rejection, and knows how to handle it. Because, yeah, Leliana has a point. She’s right, of course, like she always is. Too close, this place, too many bad connections for them both. _Denerim_ , and all the memories it dredges up in them both. Good, bad, everything in between. Sera and the dirt on her knees, her clothes, her skin, reminding her over and over again of what she is, what she’ll always be. Leliana and her stupid Hero of Ferelden, some great big important someone who died or whatever, and what chance does stupid Sera have of standing up next to someone like that? _Here_ , and all the different things that means for them both.

“Right,” she hears herself say, and bites down on her tongue. “Right. Uh. Yeah.”

Ugh, but it’s so _tender_ , the way Leliana’s looking at her, the way she leans in again, gloves heavy and awkward but surprisingly soft against the side of Sera’s face, the way she smoothes out the lines across her cheek and jaw, the way she comes to rest just under her ear, her stupid oversized elf-ear, all big and shitty and so frigging sensitive. Drives her crazy, that does, nerves lighting up in all the places Leliana touches, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t go for her mouth again even though they’re so close, so impossibly close, even though…

 _Ugh_ , she thinks. Fucking ‘here’. Fucking Denerim. Fucking everything.

Leliana smiles. Warm and soft, everything that makes Sera’s knees go weak, everything that reminds her she’s still covered in dirt and dark, unworthy and undeserving, everything that makes her melt. Allows herself a moment of weakness, a moment to turn her face to the side, let her lips catch the edge of her glove, indulge the ache inside of her one more time. That doesn’t count, does it? It’s not even properly on the hand, not with all that leather in the way, so it doesn’t count. It’s not real, not really, and who can blame her for wanting to drag out a moment like this, a moment of shallow breaths and half-closed eyes, a moment where she can almost imagine she’s worth more than she is, where she can almost let herself believe that Leliana… _Leliana_ …

“Right.” Again, yeah, because she has to remind herself, has to cut off the thoughts before they manifest, before they turn to a different kind of ache, a different kind of longing. “Not here. Not…”

But she never gets the chance to finish, because all of a sudden Leliana’s changing the script, changing the rules, changing everything. She leans right in, grabs Sera by the hand and hauls her to her feet. Quick as lightning, like the frigging world is ending. Smiles against her skin, breath ghosting across the corner of Sera’s mouth, whispers and nonsense words and secrets in codes she’ll never decipher. Doesn’t feel like rejection, this, but Sera’s so sure that’s the only way this can possibly end, so sure, so frigging sure…

…but then, it’s real hard to misinterpret the way Leliana’s suddenly licking at the curve of her jaw, her cheek, her lips, the way her eyes flash with something that’s definitely not rejection, and there’s something pointed and deliberate, something almost hot, in the way she tosses a handful of sovereigns onto the table without even looking.

“So, then.” Her voice is a rasp, husky against Sera’s ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

It feels like forever before Sera’s brain catches up with the rest of her, realises what Leliana’s been getting at, what she’s been getting at the whole time. It’s not about Denerim, is it? Bloody idiot. Not about this and now and them, all the hundreds of reasons why this is a bad idea, why they shouldn’t, why they need to stop. It’s about _here_. The bloody _tavern_.

So, yeah, she flushes right down to her toes. “Oh.”

Leliana, of course, only laughs.

“You think too much,” she says, and kisses her again.

*

The next thing she knows, they’re back in the shadows.

Well, maybe not the _very_ next thing. She’s aware of the little things in between; the flurry of motion, the ground underneath her, the way their bodies sway just a little as they move, the blood rushing to her head, the weight of Leliana’s gloves at her back, her waist, her hips, the way she can’t seem to keep her hands still. She knows what’s going on, what they’re doing and why, but it all flashes by so fast, so sudden, that the reality doesn’t really hit her until they’re there, back outside, behind the tavern, in the same stupid alley that she used to hide in all those years ago.

It feels like a completely different place now, not least of all because she’s a completely different person. She’s aware, and not for the first time, of just how much she’s grown since the last time she was here; she’s so much taller, so much heavier, and the difference makes the ground feel very far away. Further away from the dirt and piss and broken glass. Safer, too, with proper shoes, proper clothes, older with shorter hair and longer limbs, stronger with a bow on her back and a quiver full of arrows. Taller, heavier, safer, older, stronger… all that shite, definitely, but it’s not just that, is it?

Never done _this_ here before. Done it plenty of times, sure, but never here. Here, she’s done other things. Not so much fun, the shit she usually does here, the shit she’s used to; embarrassing on a good day, awful on a bad one, but either way it’s stuff she doesn’t want to think about. Still, though, the thoughts aren’t so easy to to ignore once they get out, once they take shape and take up space inside her head, and now it’s in her she can’t help but remember, can she? She’s right here, just like she used to be, and it blows her mind in a way she never expected that she’s not doing any of those things, that she’s doing _this_ instead.

Never could’ve dreamed it. Not for a second. Never could’ve dreamed that signing on with the Inquisition would bring her back here, back to Denerim, back to this dirt-drenched alley… and with _Leliana_ , of all people. Frigging Sister Nightingale, the Inquisition’s big bad Shadow of Birds; all those fancy titles and whatever, and what do they mean when they’re both right here? What good is any of that shit, either of them, when they both end up in the same place? Strip away it all away, Leliana’s birds and her titles, the dirt and the bruises and the stains on Sera’s skin strip it all away and all that’s left is _this_ , Leliana’s mouth and Sera’s neck and the way she bites down just right, just _there_ and… and…

 _Woof_.

Makes her head spin, that does, so she lets it fall back, all the way back until it hits the wall, until she’s blinking back stars. Not the first time she’s done that here, hit her head a little too hard and watched the world whirl around her, but it’s definitely the first time it felt this good.

“You sure about this?”

Her voice, yeah, but she has no frigging idea where it comes from. Doesn’t remember talking in the first place, too busy reeling to get a coherent word out, and in the second, what kind of bloody idiot would be stupid enough to ask that frigging question _now_? Of all the frigging moments…

Leliana smiles, flicks her tongue over Sera’s lips. “You’re very sweet,” she says, like that’s any kind of answer.

Weird, the way Sera finds that it’s not enough, the way she finds her chest flare with something fierce, something that wants a real answer. Didn’t feel important when she heard the words spill out of her, but it feels important now, and she pushes herself away from the wall, straightens up and looks Leliana right in the eye. Doesn’t even realise until she presses on, urgent and breathy, just why it means so much.

“Like piss,” she says, and means it. “Not about being bloody sweet. About being sure, innit? Wouldn’t want you bottling halfway through or… or…”

But that’s the part that stings, and of course Leliana latches right on. “Or what?” she presses, eyes bright as veilfire.

“Well, shite, I dunno. Not sure what you’re after, Milady Nightingale, but I’m not…” She sucks down a breath, forces herself to say it. Full disclosure and all that piss. “I’m no Hero of Ferelden, you know? Not even close.”

Leliana sighs, turns serious. “I would never expect you to be,” she says. “That would be unfair to both of you.”

That hits, sharper than she expected it to, and Sera swallows down the surge of feeling. Never really heard the word ‘fair’ in the same sentence as her own name before, and she’s definitely never seen anyone look at her the way Leliana is right now, like she really believes words like ‘fair’ apply to the likes of her. Eyes bright, face flushed, both soft, like Sera deserves that word, that look, like she and the frigging Hero deserve the same. Mental, that, and a hundred levels of wrong… but, oh, it makes her warm inside.

“Look at you,” she mumbles. “All romantic and shit.”

“No.” There’s a tightness in the way she says it, a kind of urgency, like thinking in those terms would cross a line she’s not ready for, turn this into something it’s not. Makes sense, Sera supposes, given where they are. “This is not about romance, Sera. Nor should it be. If that’s what you’re after…”

She trails off, leaves it unsaid, but there’s a shimmer in her voice that sounds almost sad. Almost, if not entirely, like maybe there’s a part of her that wishes it could be, that wishes this could be as simple as that, sweetness and romance and purity, all that shit that makes this stuff go down smooth. Maker knows, Sera understands that; she’s not the type to overthink mindless fumbling, definitely not, but this is so frigging complicated for them both.

“Fuck romance,” she says, with a violence that surprises her.

Doesn’t seem to surprise Leliana, though; she just chuckles and touches Sera’s face again, tenderness tangible even through those thick leather gloves.

“Quite right,” she says, and kisses her real slow. “And in any case, you should not compare yourself with others so much.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Sera lies.

Leliana sighs, leans back ever so slightly. “It is true enough that you are not the Hero of Ferelden. But then, no-one is. No-one will ever be what she was, not in either of our lifetimes. This city is rebuilt on her bones, or have you forgotten that? Is that a sacrifice you’d want to make for the sake of being loved?”

Sera winces. It’s a pointed choice of words, and they both know it. And, honestly, she’s not entirely sure it applies to her at all; being loved is a complicated thing, even more complicated than this shit, and she’s not really sure she wants anything to do with it. Not just about the emotion, is it? Not just about scary Spymasters with soft faces and sweet voices, not just about fumbling in back alleys, replacing bad memories with good ones. Not about the way they connect, or sort-of connect, the way they get each other. Being loved means being part of something, and more than that, _accepting_ that you’re part of something. That’s too much,y more than Sera can ever do. Sacrifice herself for it? Piss on that; she doesn’t even want it in the first place.

All she wants is _this_. A moment, short and sweet, where she can pretend. Easier, pretending, innit? Easier than having to live with something that’s real.

“Guess not,” she says. Hopes that sounds vague enough, hopes it doesn’t give away too much of the other stuff, the parts she doesn’t want Leliana to hear.

Apparently it does, because Leliana nods and says, “A good answer.”

“I’m sorry.” Doesn’t know why she says it, really; it just feels right.

Leliana shakes her head, eyes dark and sad. “Why apologise? Nobody can take away what she did, or what we meant to each other. What we had was… in so many ways, it flourished in spite of our experiences, and in so many others it flourished because of them. You cannot simply separate the one from the other, nor would I want to.” She turns her face away, hides beneath her hood. “But you…”

Sera chews her lip. “Nothing like that,” she says. “Could never be.”

“No.” She kisses her again, on the cheek this time. Chaste, or as close to it as anything can be when they’re pressed against each other in an alley. “And for now, that is all I could hope for.”

Sera doesn’t understand. Doesn’t really know if she wants to, honestly; there’s a part of her that can’t help thinking it’s better for both of them if she just shrugs off this whole messy conversation and moves on. Leliana’s clearly happy to be here, happy to be with her instead of her precious memories, and Sera should take that for what it is, just nod and smile and hide her face too. Should, and wants to, but she’s too bloody curious for her own good.

“What d’you mean?” she asks. Curious, yeah, but she sounds real vulnerable too.

This time when Leliana kisses her, it’s on the mouth again, deep and slow. “Not such a strange idea, when you think about it,” she says when they’re done. “We both have pasts here, you and I. Things that we cling to in spite of ourselves. Memories we want to keep close forever, others we wish would disappear. And perhaps a few that fall on both sides: things we don’t want to remember, but can’t quite bring ourselves to forget.”

That hurts. Punch-to-the-gut hurts, fire-in-her-veins hurts. “Yeah.”

“But they so seldom intersect, yes? My pain is my own, my grief mine alone. You say you don’t remember the Blight, the Hero of Ferelden, all those things that mean so much to me. You say you don’t remember them, and that gives me a peace you can scarcely imagine. For so long, I have been defined… defined _myself_ by what happened on that day. Do you know how comforting it is when you look at me and say you that know nothing of it, of her, of that time in my life? The way you look at me, Sera, the things you see in me… they are things I’d all but forgotten I ever possessed.”

“I…” Sera swallows, thinks of her own pain. Hard to imagine that ignorance might be comforting. “Really?”

“Yes.” She shakes her had, like she can’t believe it any more than Sera can. “It is refreshing. _You_ are refreshing, Sera. Your perspective, your experiences, even your struggles. You challenge me, force me to dig into parts of myself I’d all but abandoned. It is… intoxicating, in a way.”

Sera doesn’t know exactly what that word means. _Like drunk_ , she thinks, though she can’t remember where she heard that from. Doesn’t make sense, though, her being that. “What, me?”

“You’re a great many things,” Leliana says, like that’s not new information, like Sera’s supposed to know it already; she doesn’t, and it makes her uncomfortable to hear it said so matter-of-fact and prissy. “And you help me to see what is important, what truly matters. What we had, she and I… it cannot be so easily tainted as you would believe, and perhaps that is something I needed reminding of as well.”

“Uh…” Sera frowns. “You’re welcome?”

Leliana’s smile is sad but achingly sweet. “Yes. Thank you.”

She whispers it like a prayer, like Sera’s something holy, something divine. Like this is a kind of revelation, this moment or whatever it is, like she’s realising this shit for the first time. Impressive, that, Sera thinks. Would’ve taken her a whole lot longer than ten years to figure out this kind of thing, to navigate the muddy waters of dead lovers and new sort-of whatevers. Shit like that is hard to let go, or so she’s heard. Not so surprising, really, that Leliana’s grief is still so raw. A whole lot more surprising that a stupid nothing like Sera is the thing that helps.

She looks away, swallows down the feeling that surges in her, nameless and frightening. “Yeah.”

Leliana smiles again, soft, knowing, like she can see what Sera’s feeling, like she knows the name of that nameless thing, like she understands it. Sera doesn’t, but Leliana looks like _she_ does, and Sera feels like she should resent her for that, should hate her for understanding her own pain better than she does. Should hate her, even tries to, but it’s hard to hate someone with the taste of their tongue still fresh in her mouth, the memory of hugging her, of kissing her, all of the things Denerim’s brought out in them, the new memories they’re building on this graveyard of old ones.

“We’re more than our memories,” Leliana says. “Both of us, yes? We’re more than the things that brought us back here. And it does not diminish the past to celebrate the present.”

So pretty, the way she says it. So frigging pretty, all of her.

This time, when they kiss, neither one of them pulls away. Leliana’s mouth is hot, but her kiss is something else, something almost secret; that makes a weird kind of sense, Sera supposes, coming from the secret-keeping Spymaster and all. She kisses Sera like she does everything, with precision and poise; frigging perfection, that’s what it is, and honestly there’s not much Sera can offer in return because her knees are buckling and it’s all she can do just to keep her feet underneath her.

Embarrassing as anything, that, and she braces against the wall. The stone crumbles a little under her fingers, makes it hard to hold her balance; she closes her eyes, slumps with her shoulders, tries real hard not to think about the last dozen times she was here. Remembers the taste, stale liquor burning her throat on the way down, burning even worse on the way back up, anger and hate seething like poison in her blood, the combination making her do and think things she still regrets. Dark times in this stupid dark alley, but it’s as bright as the frigging sun out here right now.

The thought ignites a blaze in her veins, heat and passion and violence, and she surges forwards. Pushes Leliana back, or tries to, but Leliana’s bigger and stronger than she is; Sera’s got all the reach and power of a dull breeze, and Leliana doesn’t even blink. Laughs real loud, though, and the outrage spurs Sera on to try again, push harder.

The second time, Leliana doesn’t laugh. She just shakes her head, takes Sera by the wrists, gentle but firm, and pulls her in. Like, properly pulls her in, real close, an embrace that’s nothing like a hug, nothing like anything Sera’s ever had from anyone. She’s surrounded by leather and chainmail and the smell of birds; Leliana has one hand at her back and the other across her chest, and she’s moving with purpose, all focused and serious and halfway in shadow as she lowers Sera down, _down_ into the dirt and the grime and the ground.

She doesn’t push, not like Sera did. Doesn’t need to, does she? Sera’s not tough, and she couldn’t stand her ground even if she wanted to; she’d go down like a sack of potatoes given half the chance, but Leliana’s as gentle as anything, eases her down like she’s something fragile and precious, like she’s afraid of hurting her, afraid that Sera will bloody break if things get a little rough.

Stupid as anything, that, and Sera tells her so with a bite to her neck.

Not as easy as it should be, making a point with her teeth when Leliana’s dressed like that. Hard to get any skin at all with that getup she’s wearing, all the chainmail and leather and layers on layers of Maker-knows-what. It’s impractical for a start, and annoying as anything. Sera wants to touch her, like properly touch her, skin on skin; she wants to push past all those layers, the armour and the hood and all the rest of it, wants to push past and leave a mark or two of her own. Make memories, yeah, branded onto both their bodies.

Can’t, though. Obviously. Because, yeah, that’s what armour’s for, innit? The whole frigging getup is designed to keep shit out. Blades and arrows and magic and shit, sure, but Sera can’t help wondering if maybe some part of it was meant specifically to keep _this_ out as well. Wandering hands, eagerness, sloppy wet kisses, all the shit that they’re doing now, all the shit that reminds her of her precious dead Hero. One thing to celebrate the present, sure, but it took a road-trip to Denerim with a half-mad thief to get that far, and Sera wonders if the idea cut a little too close when she had the armour made, if she thought back to a thing that glowed, a thing that made her feel happy and loved and _worthy_ , thought back and wrapped herself up real tight in all this protection just to be damn sure that it never happened again.

 _Well,_ she thinks, clawing at the stupid chainmail, _things frigging change._

Leliana stops her before she can get anywhere. Takes her by the wrists, pins her hands above her head, holds her in place like she’s teaching her a lesson. Kisses her with an open mouth, deep and wet and right on the edge of meaningful, keeps going until Sera whimpers, until she bucks her hips in a soundless plea.

Lucky for them both, Sera’s clothes are less of a challenge; ripped and torn and barely there, it’s as easy as anything to get underneath. No armour to get in the way, not this time; made that choice on purpose because she didn’t want to be weighed down if she had to run. Old habits, even more of them; they keep coming back, again and again in this stupid place, and she drives them out of her head by focusing on what’s going on, what’s present and potent and _here_.

Yanks her hands free, not gentle at all, and Leliana lets her go probably more out of curiosity than anything else. Might regret that, yeah, because Sera’s tugging at her stupid Spymaster’s hood, yanking the damn thing down like both their lives depend on it. Maybe they do, at that; sure feels like it right now. Comes off easily enough, the hood, not like the bloody armour, and the stupid gloves follow real fast. That’s Leliana’s doing, all eager to please and shit and that… well, that’s probably as close to equal-exposure as they’re going to get, at least for now. Sera wants to be annoyed about that, wants to insist on getting rid of that frigging chainmail, but Leliana’s hands are bare now and it’s distracting as anything when she slides them up and under Sera’s stupid threadbare tunic.

“Maker!”

It’s probably blasphemy or something, shouting out the Maker’s name right now. Leliana is the Left Hand of the Divine, after all, or was, or… well, something? Sera’s not entirely sure how that shit works, to be honest, but either way it’s probably not the best idea to go taking His name in vain around her.

Feels illicit, anyway, even more so than what they’re doing, but Leliana doesn’t seem to mind at all. At the very least, she doesn’t call her out, doesn’t tell her to stop. Doesn’t say anything at all, and that’s probably for the best because Sera’s not in any condition to hear it anyway, what with the white-hot haze of warm hands against her abdomen, sparks rippling under her skin as they slide up to cup her tits and—

“ _Maker_!”

Oh, yeah. _Definitely_ blasphemy this time. There’s not a single pure thought left in her frigging head.

Leliana chuckles; apparently this time it’s more than she can do not to comment on it because she leans right in, tongue sweeping across Sera’s ear, and whispers, “Are you sure you want Him here now?”

Sera flushes. “Uh. Probably… not?” Bites her lip to keep from saying it again. “Sorry about that.”

“You apologise too much,” Leliana says. “And for too little.”

She presses a kiss to the junction where her stupid elfy ear meets the rest of her face, the place that lets her pretend she’s human, and Sera cups the back of her neck to hold her there.

“Well, you know,” she manages, panting. “You and Him are kind of… uh… close? Wouldn’t want to… wouldn’t want…”

But the rest of the apology flies out of her head as Leliana kisses her again.

“Honestly, Sera. If I’ve learned anything in the last ten years, it’s that faith can come in many forms, and abandon us all too quickly. We should never turn it away when it reaches out to us.”

“What, even at a time like this?”

Leliana smiles, soft and radiant. “Perhaps especially at a time like this.”

There’s probably some kind of double-meaning there. Sera’s complicated relationship with her own faith is no secret to anyone, and even the servants know that Leliana is not nearly as devout now as she used to be. So easy to turn away from shit like that, so easy to doubt when the world’s gone mad and demon god-monsters are falling out of the frigging sky. Maybe she’s got a point, then; maybe there really is nothing wrong with bringing the Maker into this. It’s a good reminder, and one they both need, that good things can happen in shitty places, that even dark alleys can hold a glimmer of light in the right moment with the right person.

And, okay, so maybe He’d raise an eyebrow at their choice of location — getting down and dirty down in the dirt isn’t ideal for anyone who doesn’t understand — but enjoying themselves? Finding some measure of comfort and companionship in a place that hurt? Somehow, she imagines He’d be just fine with that.

So, yeah, for once she listens to Leliana, takes her words at face-value and lets herself believe in them. Chokes out the Maker’s name again, hisses it like a curse against Leliana’s shoulder, lost to the weight of fabric, the tug of chainmail and leather. Fumbles for purchase, some place she can get her fingers in, some way she can claim all that heavy shit as _hers_ , even if it’s just for one breathless moment.

Still can’t get under all that armour, so she lifts her leg instead; might not be able to get hands-on, so to speak, but she’s sure as shit going to do something. Can’t just lie here and take it, can’t just do nothing and not give anything back. Got to try, at least. Pushes her knee up, presses between Leliana’s legs, or tries to, though she can tell that it’s not particularly effective; with all that leather and shit it’s kind of like bashing her head against a tree, trying to get any kind of friction going. It’s futile and kind of painful for them both, but Leliana smiles just the same, shifts her hips like it’s more effective than it really is, like she at least appreciates the gesture. Well, Sera supposes with a sigh, it’s better than nothing, yeah? Better than just lying there, senseless and needless and worthless, and—

“Sera.”

Strange, the way she does that. Cuts off the bad thoughts before they can really start, like she can hear what Sera’s thinking, like she knows what she’s feeling almost before Sera herself does. Wouldn’t put it past her, to be honest. Even here, in the dark dirty corners where Nightingales don’t go, she’s still the Inquisition’s Spymaster, and it’s all too easy to forget that she knows everything.

“Ugh,” Sera mutters, bringing the whole thing back around, shaking herself out of her head. “Just… ugh. Why all the frigging armour? Don’t you know how to be prepared?”

Leliana’s teeth snap against her jaw, quick and sharp. “I _am_ prepared,” she says. “That’s what it’s for.”

“Prepared for the wrong shit, though, innit?” Sera growls, paws at her shoulder. She really wants to touch her, touch some part of her. Fingers itching like they did in the market, desperate and hungry. She needs the contact almost more than she needs to frigging breathe at this point. “Should be prepared for _this_ , not bloody assassins or whatever. Not bloody… frigging…”

“Yes, yes. All right.” She doesn’t seem to be taking it too seriously, though. “You’ve made your point, no?”

“Not even close,” Sera grumbles.

“Come, now.” A brief chuckle, short and sharp, and punctuated by a flash of teeth against Sera’s lips. “You have seen me out of it before, you know. Surely you can use your imagination.”

“Imagination won’t get either of us off,” Sera mutters.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She’s wheedling, and they both know it. “Used properly, it can be a most efficient—”

“Not frigging _now_!”

Leliana’s laughter vibrates across her throat, her collarbones. She’d be angry, if it didn’t feel so frigging good.

“All right.” Another laugh, another shudder right through her. “All right.”

And then Sera’s gasping again, hissing out the Maker’s name, and Andraste’s, any name she can pluck out of the frigging air, any name except Leliana’s, because that would be too much, too close, too raw. Blasphemy is one thing, but intimacy is another. Sticks with the easy stuff, religion and whatever, whimpering like an idiot on every other syllable, clutching at Leliana’s shoulder, her hip, fisting the stupid leather, the stupid armour, because she has to hold on to something, has to keep her balance somehow.

Still wants to touch her, yeah. Still wants to get her skin on Leliana’s skin, wants to press their bodies together until there’s no space between them at all, hands and hips and fingers and curves and pulses and all that good shit, all of it, wants to touch and touch and touch until ten stupid years dissolve and melt away for them both, until the distance dissolves too, until there’s nothing between them at all, just sweat and skin and shudders. Still wants all that, so badly it almost hurts, but it’s kind of hard to focus on what she wants when her nerves are all lit up with what she’s got, hard to focus on flailing and fumbling when Leliana’s sliding her hand down, past the fabric of her breeches, down and down and _down_ until—

“Shite! Piss! _Fuck_!”

“I suppose that’s an improvement over taking the Maker’s name in vain, no?” Leliana smiles, slow and seductive, and spreads her fingers. It’s good, like _really_ good, contact and pressure in all the right places, deliberate like everything else she does, and Sera bites off another string of curses. “Such enthusiasm. It is… rather endearing.”

“What’d you expect?” Sera snaps, a little sharper than she meant to. “You’ve got your hand down my—”

“Yes.” Apparently Leliana’s panting too, because Sera can feel her breath, hot and wanton against her ear. “ _Yes_.”

Makes her feel worthy again, the way she says it. Sera’s just lying there like an idiot, just gasping and panting and cursing the Maker’s name, but still Leliana’s whispering _yes_ , panting and gasping like it’s good for her too, like they’re both naked, like this is a real proper bed not some dark dirty alley, like it actually means something. Even though she’s just lying there, helpless and useless, mouth hanging open, fingers groping at leather and chainmail and shit she’ll never be able to peel away, even though she’s nothing at all, just stupid wasted Sera, still Leliana’s breathing and shuddering like she’s doing something, like she’s doing everything.

It’s in the way she touches her, too, fingers splayed right across the surface, slick and wet, like she’s getting as much out of the friction as Sera is; it’s like she’s found some long-buried treasure or something, the way she relishes the contact, the slide and the pressure and everything, like she’s hit on something she thought she’d lost. Or, better yet, like she’s found a reason to keep looking.

Incredible, that. Unbelievable, and the intensity on Leliana’s face, the shudder in her breathing jolts in Sera’s groin almost more powerfully than the touches. She’s nothing, has always been nothing, but Leliana thinks she’s more, thinks shit like this is worth doing, worth doing with _her_ , that it’s worth celebrating the present or whatever not just together but really literally _together_. It’s overwhelming, almost unbearable, and Sera drops her head down to hide the flush on her skin, awe and lust and emotion. Buries her face in the crook of Leliana’s neck, breathing in leather and sweat and that feather-heavy bird-smell. Breathes in as deep as she can, and muffles her moans with chainmail in her mouth.

She’s saying her name, too, Leliana is. Her name, _Sera_ , over and over, and that blows her mind too. Grounds her, more than the dirt between her shoulders, forces her to remember that she’s _here_ , that there’s no escaping that, no hiding from the shadows and the past, the dark corners they’re both supposed to be moving on from, the memories that lurk at the edge of every breath. Her name, the one she chose for herself, over and over on a Nightingale’s lips; she makes it sound like a song, like something sensual and symphonic.

Sera wants to do the same, to offer that same sweetness in return, wants to whisper _Leliana, Leliana_ … but she can’t. Not because she’s breathless, even though she is, but because she really properly can’t. This is her dark corner, Sera’s alone, and if she says the word, _Leliana_ , that’ll make it theirs. Can’t allow that, can’t let it happen; she can’t crawl out of these twisting shadows if she doesn’t acknowledge that they are hers, that they were once her home. Hers, when she was all alone.

So she sticks to other words, easier ones, ones that could mean everything or nothing, or both when she gets the emphasis just right. _“Yes,”_ over and over, again and again. _“Maker,”_ when Leliana smiles that wicked smile. _“Please,”_ once and only once.

It’s over real fast. Too fast, maybe, not that either of them mind. Sera’s used to that, to be honest; she’s never been one to stand on ceremony, never needed much in the way of foreplay, and… well, apparently Spymasters get shit done. No real surprise there, when she thinks about it.

So, yeah, a little pressure in just the right place, a little Orlesian flourish at just the right moment (and, yeah, Sera enjoys that way more than she’d ever admit, the fanciness and the flourishes, like she’s got a title too), and she’s done. Gasping and whimpering, the whole stupid routine, choked-out cries smothered by Leliana’s tongue, nonsense words lost to the back of her mouth, more blasphemous moans to the Maker drowned out by the rumble in her chest as she laughs.

She comes down fast, too, sticky and satisfied and just a little sore. Good, yeah, but not the best she’s ever had.

Doesn’t really matter, though, does it? Was never about that, not this time. Not about getting off, about the high and the scream and teeth-marks on the skin. Wasn’t about the cliche, the nudge and the wink and _‘oh, baby, rock my world’_. No chance, not when you’re knocking boots with Sister Nightingale, and definitely not when you’re knocking boots in a Denerim alley.

No. This was about the other stuff. The hard stuff, the stuff that cuts, the soreness in places that aren’t chafing, hard-to-reach places that smell of too much liquor and not enough sense. About that, about _here_ , about being back out in the dirt and the darkness, back out in a place that used to hurt. It’s reclaiming the place that made her feel like nothing, taking it back and turning it into something that feels like everything, worthlessness made worthy, and choking out her pleasure over the ragged hiss of Leliana’s breathing makes her feel like maybe this place won’t choke her with the same kind of hurt the next time she thinks of it. It’s about memories, old ones made new, bad made good, just like Leliana said. She can’t be owned by what she was when she can twist it up into something else, when she can turn old pain into fresh new pleasure.

Doesn’t matter that she’s had it better, does it? Because she’s sure as shit never felt so good out _here_.

Leliana pulls her in real close when it’s over. Holds her like she’s something precious, like this was something precious, like it meant as much to her as it did to Sera, even though that’s not possible, even though she’s still flushed and gasping, still heated in all the places that Sera’s slowly cooling.

Got to fix that, Sera thinks dumbly, and kisses her hard. Tries to get a hand down between her legs, too, tries to give back. Hard as anything to navigate all that leather and chainmail, and even harder when she’s still not thinking straight, but she has to try, has to make the effort, has to…

She’s desperate, like properly desperate, but Leliana puts a pin in it before she can make any headway.

“Enough,” she says, and stills her hands.

Sera blinks. “Huh?”

Can’t really blame herself for being a little incoherent, a little slow and stupid. Leliana’s got her hands around her wrists again, fingers still wet against her skin, a mark that’ll linger even after it dries, and how is she supposed to think about anything else when Leliana’s eyes are wet too, shining and dark and as beautiful as anything Sera’s ever seen?

Leliana counters her frenzied kisses with something a little more tender, teeth and tongue soothed over with softness and smiling lips.

“Not here,” she says, and lets Sera swallow the words.

 _Not here_. Right. Yeah. Not talking about the alley this time, is she? Nothing so bloody simple. Because, yeah, they’re so different, the two of them. Both here, both hurting, both remembering, but they mean such different things. Leliana’s loss is powerful and painful, but it’s nothing like the way Sera struggles. For Sera, Denerim is a thing, a piece of her; it’s carved under her skin, scars and scratches and stitches that never come out. It’s burned into her, this stupid city, runs through her veins like fire in her blood. She can’t escape it, so all she can do is turn it into something new, take it back and own it.

It’s not the same for Leliana. _Here_ means something else to her. _Denerim_ is more than just a city, it’s a moment; she doesn’t want to live here, doesn’t want to become the thing she used to be, warm and soft and smiling. Maybe she thinks she doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worth it; Sera understands that feeling all too well. Hurts to remember a version of yourself that was better, a version that was _more_. Hurts to look back into that distorted mirror and realise that the thing you are now is so much less.

More than just that, though, innit? What Sera’s doing… it’s easier. Easier to replace pain with pleasure, hurt with healing or whatever. Easier to get off with someone else’s hand down your breeches and feel better, let the bad memories get swallowed up by something that feels good. Easy for her, yeah, but it’s muddier for someone like Leliana. The bad and the good are so close together for her, the hurt and loss all tangled up in the joy of having something worth losing in the first place.

Sera only has bad memories of being here. Even the few moments where she felt good were twisted and tainted in the end, sweet-tasting sugar turned sour and sick in her stomach, pride tearing apart everything that might once have been worth remembering. The shadows were safe, yeah, and the stealing was easy, but it’s not the same as something _good_. Not the same as memories you want to keep. Given the choice, Sera would burn down everything this hateful city ever made her feel.

Different for Leliana, because loss isn’t the same as pain; hurts the same, yeah, but loss only comes with something good. And that doesn’t work, does it? Can’t do shit like this and expect it to help, because you can’t replace good with good. Not possible. Can’t take the loss and the sorrow and turn it into pleasure, can’t fix that kind of pain the same way Sera fixes hers. You can only build new good shit somewhere else and hope that it makes the loss a little less when you find yourself back in the old sad places.

That’s what Leliana needs, Sera realises; that’s what she’s after. Getting off in an alley doesn’t mean a frigging thing to her, because it was never about the alleys, not like it was with Sera. Never about the shadows, either, at least not these ones. Sera’s shadows are here, Denerim shadows that kept her safe until she got big enough and strong enough to step out and face the bad stuff on her own, armed to the teeth with arrows that never miss. But Leliana’s shadows came later, came after.

Different, Sera supposes. When she steps out of the shadows, she’s always looking around, always checking to make sure they’re still there. But Leliana stepped _into_ the shadows. Wrapped them around herself like a frigging funeral shroud, like she’s the one who died. Not so easy to fix shit like that with a quick fumble, not when the shadows were never the problem in the first place, not when they were supposed to be the solution. Similar, yeah, but Leliana was right when she said they’re not so alike as Sera thinks.

“Not here,” she says again, like she can hear all that, or maybe just like she’s feeling it too, seeing the difference between them as clear as daylight, reflected like her own face in Sera’s eyes.

“Where then?” she asks, ignorant and stupid.

Leliana kisses her again. No tongue, just lips, sweet as sugar. “Where else?”

Sera knows the answer, of course, but she doesn’t want to say it. Still feels kind of shaky, thinking about it. That place, and the shit it’s supposed to represent. _Home_ , the kind she’s still not ready to accept. Hard to let places mean stuff, hard to think about her place in places at all, and especially that place, the one that’s so far off it might as well be another world entirely.

Because, yeah, even now, even after all this, she’s still bloody waiting for that world to end. Doesn’t make sense, and she knows it, but sense never means much to the senseless, does it? Still waiting, probably be waiting for the rest of her life. Waiting to get kicked out, sent back to corners like this, and without some pretty redhead to make the dirty parts feel cleaner. Still waiting, and it really doesn’t matter how many careful new ways Leliana finds to say _‘it won’t happen’_ , because all Sera will ever be able to think is _yes, it will_.

But then, maybe it’ll be okay when it does. First time she’s caught herself thinking that. A few more new memories like this, and maybe she won’t mind so much when she gets chucked back to relive the old ones.

She doesn’t answer the question. Just stands up, like she doesn’t care, even though they both know she does. Swings to her feet, bracing against the wall to keep her balance, tries not to let Leliana see how shaky her legs are, how much of a number those sly Spymaster’s fingers did between them.

Leliana doesn’t follow. She stays where she is, halfway sitting up, and watches Sera with a secret little smile on her face. Hates that smile, Sera does; it makes her look like she knows everything, every last thought spinning around in her head, like there’s nothing private or personal in her at all. She wonders if Leliana can see her own place there too. All tangled up in Sera’s head, who she is and who she was, who Leliana is and what they’ve done together, all the different things they’ve both become since coming back here. A part of her wants to leave, wants to get away from here, back to the stupid Inquisition, but it’s so scary to think about it and remember that it’s actually an option, that she _can_ go back, that they both can, and maybe they will, hand in hand. Like that’s not the scariest thing in the whole frigging world.

“Skyhold,” Leliana says, like Sera needed any more proof that she’s reading her bloody mind.

It’s an answer to her own question, Sera knows, but still she plays dumb because being stupid keeps her safe. “What about it?”

At last, Leliana stands. She’s graceful and smooth, everything Sera isn’t, and honestly that’s kind of impressive. Even without the whole post-coitus thing going for her, that armour must be a bastard to move in; now that she’s gotten her hands on it, and partway under it, Sera can’t help marvelling at how easily she moves, like it’s no more cumbersome than Vivienne’s dresses or Solas’s robes. If she was the one wearing it, she’s pretty sure she’d have trouble enough holding herself upright, much less moving, but Leliana wears the stuff like it’s an extension of her body, like it’s a part of her, organic and natural and so frigging comfortable.

Makes her think of Red Templars, that, and the way they wear lyrium. Unbidden, the thought, and definitely unwanted; it makes her shudder.

Leliana steadies her. Of course she does; she’s been doing it ever since they got here, hasn’t she? The gloves are back on, Sera notices, wonders wonder how that happened, when and where. Full of secrets, those gloves, as thick and heavy as the rest of the stupid armour; better, she decides, to just not ask.

Leans right in, Leliana does, mouth shaping secrets against her jaw. “Skyhold,” she says again.

Weird, the way she can say so much in just a word. Weird, how it can sound like a whole frigging story. It’s just a name, a stupid name for a stupid place, but here and now, so far away it’s almost unimaginable, it sounds more like a promise than a place. _There,_ she’s saying. _There, you can do what you like. There, you can help shape my memories as I’ve shaped yours in this place. Skyhold. It’s my home, and perhaps when we return it can be ours._

Makes Sera shudder again, hearing all that in one stupid word. Shudder, yeah, but not in a bad way, not like thinking of Red Templars. Not like sex, either, like the way she arched against Leliana’s fingers, the way her muscles locked up and got tight. A different kind of shudder, the kind that feels like wanting, like hoping, like closing her eyes and seeing something other than stupid shadows. Like thinking about Skyhold and almost forgetting that it frightens her.

“Yeah?” She’s not sure what she’s asking, really, only that the answer means more than it should.

Leliana doesn’t answer, of course. That’s okay; Sera didn’t really expect her to. She holds her, though, close and tight and so tender, and presses their mouths almost together. _Almost_ , yeah, but not quite; not quite touching, not quite kissing, not quite anything.

Feels like a whole lot, though, a whole lot more than _almost_ anything. Feels like a place and a promise, and a whole bunch of other shit that should be tangling Sera’s stomach into knots. Feels like _yes_ , even though it’s too far away, like Skyhold, like the future, like so many things Sera’s never known, never allowed herself to know. So far, but so close at the same time, a breath and a whisper; it makes her _want_ , makes her ache in places she doesn’t want to admit to, places she’d thought she’d beaten to death years ago. Makes her feel things she thought she’d never have. Awful, yeah, but wonderful too.

“Skyhold,” Leliana whispers, one last time, and Sera almost cries.

She blames that on the euphoria, the heady post-sex high, the soreness between her legs and the stiffness that makes them shake under her. Blames it on being stupid, being dizzy, being back in bloody Denerim.

Blames it on everything she can think of, and tries not to think at all.

*

They spend the night in the tavern.

Leliana’s really good at getting what she wants, and shameless too. She uses the Inquisition’s name, makes out like it’s a big deal or something. And, okay, so maybe it really is a big deal, bigger than Sera’s let herself think it is, because the barkeep doesn’t even try to argue; he just shrugs, tells them there’s rooms upstairs if they’ve got the coin to pay for them, and goes back to wiping down the bar. And, yeah, that’s all there is to it. Sera’s never gotten something so easy in all her life.

Doesn’t come free, though. Not for her. He thinks he’s being subtle, the way he leans in to whisper in Leliana’s ear, but Sera has ears too and hers are a lot more sensitive. Of course she bloody hears it, the smirk in his voice when he murmurs, “ _Let me know if that one causes you any trouble_ ,” but the words don’t sting as much as seeing Leliana smile and shake her head, all butter-wouldn’t-melt polite. Can’t besmirch the Inquisition’s name, innit? Can’t go kicking up a fuss for the sake of some pissing knife-ear.

Sera’s tempted to answer on her behalf. ‘Trouble’? Oh, yeah, she knows what passes for ‘trouble’ in this part of town. She could say a whole lot more than Leliana could, sure as shit, but she doesn’t. Doesn’t say anything at all, just shuts her mouth and looks at the floor and pretends she’s on a day-trip out of the alienage or whatever. Easier that way, innit? At the very least, it’s rather less likely to end in a not-so-pleasant kind of soreness. Another lesson she’s learned too many times.

Keeps her mouth shut until they’re upstairs. Doesn’t realise how much it hurts until she’s watching Leliana pull off all that armour, until she realises that she’s feeling too naked herself to do the same. She’s shaking again, and not in the good way.

“Piss on you,” she says. “And piss on him. Piss on…” Lashes out at the wall with her foot, catches it smartly with her heel. “Piss on everything.”

Leliana turns to her. Half-naked, and there’s a pained look on her face. “Sera…”

“Whatever.” Doesn’t mean it, but she doesn’t have the strength for a fight right now. “Hate this place. The shit it does to you, the way it makes you feel about yourself.”

Lashes out again, harder. Leliana watches, but doesn’t tell her to stop. “I know.”

“No you bloody don’t. Always been something, you. But me… it’s supposed to be different now, innit? _I’m_ supposed to be different now. Supposed to be more, supposed to be… supposed to be _something_ , yeah? Big-shot now, all Inquisition and whatever. Val Royeaux, Skyhold, all that shit. Got a name now. Half of one, anyway. Should mean something, that. Getting a name, being part of something. Should mean you matter. But it doesn’t.”

“You do matter,” Leliana says, very quietly.

“Like piss. Like frigging _piss_.”

She kicks the wall one last time, then spins away before she can do any real damage. To the wall, not her foot; doesn’t much care if she gets a bruise, but the bastard barkeep will charge them if the wallpaper gets scuffed. Probably charge them twice over, too, if he finds out she’s the one who did it; can’t have no frigging knife-ear turning the place upside-down, yeah? Got to make a frigging example.

Makes her angry all over again, that does, and she drops down on the bed to keep from channelling more violence.

Leliana sits down beside her. She doesn’t touch her, doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything at all. Just sits there with that soft-sad look on her face and waits for Sera’s temper to burn itself out, waits for her guard to drop. Weird, and kind of annoying, how she knows that it will; even Sera doesn’t really know that and it’s her frigging temper. She’s so raw, so full of hate and rage; it feels like it’ll run forever, but Leliana’s got all the patience in the world and she’s looking at her like she knows the moment it’ll sputter and fade.

Sera’s not used to this sort of thing. Letting people see her angry, letting them see how much shit like this gets to her. Shouldn’t, she knows, but it does. It’s okay when people see her scared; that’s natural, that is. Can’t control the way her blood freezes when she sees a mage, a demon, any of that shite, and there’s no frigging shame in being scared of shit that’s scary. That’s okay, that is, and if it was fear choking her now she wouldn’t give a nug’s arse who saw.

But this is different, yeah? Anger, hate, bitterness. This is her getting all pissed-off and upset over some pointless shit that shouldn’t matter at all, shit that’s not frigging important. Makes her feel like those pisshead Dalish with their whining and their history. _‘Woe is us, everyone hates us, we’re so frigging oppressed’_ ; she hates piss like that, hates how self-righteous those would-be victims are when she knows damn well they’d turn away one of their own for not being good enough. Hates that kind of hate, the kind that hides behind oppression. Hates it like burning, and she hates herself when she falls under the same thing too. Why should she care what some idiot barkeep thinks about her and Leliana and whatever else? Why should she care what anyone thinks? Shouldn’t it be enough that she knows better?

But then, maybe it’s not because she _doesn’t_ know better. Not really. Likes to pretend she does, sure, big herself up all square shoulders and straight spine, act like Cassandra in her armour, like she could take down an army if she wanted to… but pretending isn’t truth, is it? And when she strips away the things she tries to tell herself, the fantasies she tries to make herself believe, there’s nothing left but the same stupid shit she’s been feeling her whole damn life. Knife-ear, flat-ear, orphan, thief, idiot. A thousand insults from a thousand places, and she hates herself for letting them hurt.

“Piss,” she says again. “Frigging pisshead arsehole…”

Leliana leans in. Whispers her name like she did in the alley. “Sera,” just like that, and it cuts off the hate as sharp and keen as a blade.

She does touch her, then. Nudges her shoulder, arm bare and flat against Sera’s own, skin on skin. Makes her light up again in places that are so much easier than this, south of her stomach and north of her ribs. Makes everything so much easier, the fire inside her, and Sera lets her might go blank for a second, lets all the hate and hurt dissolve, lets everything dissolve until there’s just this, just Leliana, her skin and Sera’s skin, the sight of her in her smallclothes, the memory of the alley, the want and the hunger and _Maker, oh, Maker_.

Lets herself remember how it felt, the laughter against her lips, the fit of fingertips in places, the tang of chainmail in her mouth. Lets herself swallow the feeling all over again, like she mattered, like the alley was something more than a stupid alley, like everything was more than what it was. Just a moment or two, yeah, but like Leliana said, it frigging _mattered_. And while she remembers it, so does she.

“You’re naked,” she says, because it’s about all she can think of, the best way to take her mind off that other shit.

Leliana chuckles. “Not quite.”

“Close enough, yeah?” Almost begging, but this time she doesn’t say _please_. “Close enough…”

She leans up to steal a kiss, hands wandering. Urgent, fumbling, halfway to desperate. Because, yeah, it matters; when they’re touching, together, it matters, and with the barkeep’s voice still ringing in her ear, with the dirty looks and the memory of bruises and bloody noses, of being hated and kicked about, with the memory of all those things that make her angry, that make her hate… she is so frigging desperate to matter, to close her eyes and reach out and touch, to connect, to be part of something, of _someone_ who looks at her and tells her she matters.

Leliana understands, but she still stops her. Her hands are delicate, fingers rogue-light around Sera’s wrists, dry now but no less tender, and she holds her still like it makes her ache just as much as it does Sera.

She’s not mad, Sera can tell; her eyes are bright when they’re done kissing, pupils blown, and there’s something devilish in the way she licks her lips, inviting and seductive, but she’s got more self-control than Sera ever had and she knows when to put a stop to it. Hips, waist, shoulders, a little bit of groping for a second or two, but nothing more. Kisses her fingertips when she pulls them away, and looks at her like she’s beautiful.

“Not here,” she says again.

Sera frowns. “But—”

“ _Skyhold_.”

She pulls Sera in again, an awkward sort of embrace, and Sera lets her head drop down onto her shoulder. “Hate bloody Skyhold,” she mutters, more out of petulance than sincerity.

“I know you do. Almost as much as you hate patience, yes?”

Sera snorts, but doesn’t argue. Can’t, really, with her fingers twitching. “Patience is for people who got time on their hands and nothing in their frigging heads.”

“A fair assessment.” Her smile turns sad, inward. “But for now, for us, it is a sad necessity.”

Sera gets that. She does. She got it in the alley, and she gets it again now. Doesn’t stop her trying, though, and it definitely doesn’t stop her from wanting. “Frigging ‘necessity’.”

“Indeed.” The word is a laugh, chiding, and it should make her angry again, but it doesn’t. “It’s painful to be back here, yes, but I don’t want to change it. My pain isn’t like yours, and I wouldn’t cast it aside even if I had the choice. It’s too important to me, too precious. As endearing as you are, you cannot…” She shakes her head, hair tickling Sera’s nose. “New memories are a beautiful thing, Sera, and I look forward to making them with you. But not on the bones of old ones. Not here, not for me.”

Sera bites her lip. “Yeah.”

“And for you, as well, yes?” She’s smiling, Sera can tell, jaw twitching against the top of her head, and she huffs her disapproval. “A little patience could work wonders, if you’d only let it. You cannot simply replace the memories that shaped you, cannot simply build over them with new ones that feel more pleasant. You must leave them, as well, bury them and let them rest in peace.”

Sera rolls her eyes, wonders what that has to do with anything. “They’re frigging memories,” she snaps. “Not people. They don’t do that.”

Leliana sighs. “And how would you know? You wage war so often, so easily; have you ever tried to leave a moment in peace?”

“I…” Hates it when someone else takes a shot, hates it even more when it finds its mark. “Shut up.”

But she doesn’t, not this time. “Sera, you can’t simply turn away from the place that made you and claim to have moved on. You must look to your destination. But you… you look to the future like it’s something frightening, like it hurts you as much as the past. You don’t even give it a chance to prove itself. I say ‘Skyhold’, and you roll your eyes like the word is distasteful, like it means something unpleasant. It shouldn’t be that way.”

“No?” She’s angry again, because she knows Leliana’s right. “Some beat-up old fortress in the middle of nowhere? That supposed to mean something?”

“It’s supposed to be _home_ , Sera.”

Hurts like burning, the way she says it, and all Sera can do is clench her fists and repeat, “Shut up.”

“A home,” Leliana says again, pointed. “For many, myself included. It would be a home for you as well, if only you’d let it. But you’re so afraid of being cast out, so afraid of the future becoming the past. And that… oh, Sera, we need to work on that. Not only you, of course, but the rest of us as well. Josephine and myself… we have not been as understanding as perhaps we should, no?” She sighs, exasperated, but it’s not like the way Milady Josie sighs; it’s like she’s as frustrated with herself as she is with Sera, like it’s frigging equal. “You’ve behaved poorly. You know that, of course. But perhaps we’ve let you down as well, in not trying to understand the reasons why.”

Sera thinks of the rookery, of chewing on elfroot and yelling obscenities at Leliana’s stricken face. Feels a little embarrassed now, given how far they’ve come but not too much. Had a point, didn’t she? Had the frigging right of it, even if she could’ve held her temper a little better. Could’ve handled it a little more like Milady Josie, maybe, like some rich-tits ambassador or whatever, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong.

She pulls away, crawling up to the other side of the bed and wrapping her arms around her knees. Self-preservation, and it bothers her more than she’d care to admit that even now that’s her default setting. Knows better, she does, but it’s still instinct that pulls her limbs in close and tight, that turns her into something small and shivering.

“Bloody right,” she hears herself say. “Could’ve asked. Could’ve frigging…”

Leliana nods, but lets Sera keep her distance. “And that is why we’re here, yes? So that I might better understand.”

“Thought we were here to steal shit,” Sera mutters. “Or, like, _bond_ or whatever.”

“Those things as well. Can a journey not have more than one purpose?” Her fingers twitch a little at her sides, tugging at the blanket, as though resisting the urge to close the space between them. “But that is unimportant, as you well know. The fact remains that when Denerim is through with us—” A painful way of putting it, and Sera sucks in her breath. “—we will return to Skyhold. _We_ will return, Sera, both of us. And you must begin to accept that it is your home too.”

“Until it’s not.”

“Sera…”

But she doesn’t want to hear it. They’ve come a long way, the two of them, but not far enough. And maybe that’s part of the problem, that no matter how far they come it’s never quite enough, that Sera still can’t see beyond the haze of what she feels down in her bones. Maybe Leliana understands her a bit better now, sees the world she came from, the life that made her what she is, but it’s not _enough_. It’ll never be enough.

She balls her fists, shakes her head, bites down on her tongue to keep from bolting, looking for the nearest way out, to keep from doing any one of a thousand things they’ll both regret. Tries to breathe, and hates herself when she can’t.

“Until it’s _not_ ,” she says again. “Until you realise I’m not good enough, or I don’t change fast enough, or I do something stupid, or… or… _whatever_ , yeah? You’ll find a bloody reason, or someone else will, and then…”

Leliana sighs, shakes her head. “Is it so impossible to imagine that you might have some control over your own destiny? That you yourself have a say in whether you stay or go, in whether ‘some beat-up old fortress’ will become a home or simply one more alley to sleep in? Is it so impossible to imagine that others might take their cues from you, as surely as you take yours from them?”

Short answer? Frigging _yes_.

Sera’s never had any control over anything, not in her whole frigging life. Shit like this is all she’s ever known, and maybe all she’ll ever know. If Milady Josie or the Inquisitor or who-the-fuck-ever decides that she’s not good enough for their precious Inquisition, that’s the end of it, innit? She doesn’t have fancy words or important titles, doesn’t have influence or whatever, so how’s she supposed to change their minds? How’s she supposed to prove herself when it’s taken all this just to get even one of them to listen?

And, okay, so maybe this trip has been good for that. Maybe it means that Leliana will fight in her corner when the moment comes, but even if she does it’s still not _her_ is it? She’s still just sitting there, biting her knuckles and waiting for other people to make those decisions for her. Where’s the choice in that, really? What control does she have when it’s still Leliana’s frigging voice?

Hates that. Hates that Leliana can’t see the difference. She sees so much in her, more than Sera every imagined some fancy prick would ever want to see in her. She looks so much deeper, and she thinks she understands what it’s like to be small and worthless like Sera is, but she doesn’t understand what it’s like to be down here, all the way down; she’s so frigging high, up there in her stupid rookery with her stupid birds, that she can’t even imagine being as far down as Sera is, can’t imagine living in a world where every decision comes from someone else.

She doesn’t say any of that out loud, though. Doesn’t want to, but even if she had she doesn’t get the chance; Leliana’s already pressing on, almost rambling, like she’s afraid of letting Sera crawl too far up inside her own head, afraid of losing her to the kind of demons neither of them can fight.

“We share the blame,” she says. “Josephine and I… we condemned you, as you say, without even trying to understand you. We did not think to ask, and that failure is ours alone.”

She lets that sit for a moment, watches with carefully-shrouded satisfaction as Sera reels. Can’t get her head around that, the idea that someone higher up might admit that they messed up. Even if she’s going to bring it back round to Sera, and of course she will, it’s more than she’s ever had, more than she’d ever thought possible. Touches her, like really touches her, and it knocks the wind right out of her.

“Bloody right,” she says again, but the words are weak as water.

“Indeed,” Leliana says. And then she’s doing it, turning it around, because of course it can’t just be on them. “But the responsibility is yours as well, Sera.”

“Right.” It’s a growl, a feral hiss. “Of course it is.”

“Yes. The fault is ours, that we did not listen before. But we are listening _now_. We have learned from our mistakes, and we would make it up to you if you will allow it. But it is down to you to learn as well. We cannot be the only ones who reach out, Sera, and we cannot be the only ones to try. Eventually you must as well.”

Sera hugs herself a little harder, rocks on her haunches. “Why?” she mutters. “What’s the point?”

Leliana crawls up the bed at last. She wraps an arm around her shoulders, kisses her forehead. Touches her with so much softness, so much compassion, that it damn near makes Sera sick. Feels like that’s the answer, like this is her trying to explain it in ways that Sera understands. Words make her head hurt, lessons make her stomach hurt, but it doesn’t hurt so much at all to lean in and let her touch her, to take tenderness from her fingertips and solace from her lips. Doesn’t hurt so much.

“Skyhold is safe,” Leliana whispers. “And you are safe within its walls. This, I promise you. Whether it becomes a home… well, that is down to you.” She kisses her to punctuate the point, fleeting and chaste but sweeter than anything Sera has ever tasted. “It could be a wonderful home, Sera, truly. But only if you wish to make it one.”

“I don’t…” she starts, and hates that her voice cracks, hates that it’s not strong enough to handle the truth, hates that _she’s_ not strong enough. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Leliana holds her tight, rocks with her. “I understand,” she says. “But you are not alone. None of us want you to leave, Sera. Whatever you might think of us, we do not wish to see you go. Not even Josephine. You make her life trying, yes, but you also make it more interesting. She would be as sad as I would.” She smiles; Sera feels it against the top of her head. “But do not tell her I said so.”

Sera chokes on a hurtful, bitter laugh. “Prissy-pants.”

“Indeed.” She sobers quickly, though. Too quickly, and Sera hates the shift, hates how it turns her bones to ice. “We all want you to stay, Sera. But _you_ must want to stay as well.”

Sera closes her eyes, swallows. “I…”

But no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t bring herself to say _‘do’_.

*


	6. Chapter 6

*

She doesn’t sleep well.

The bed’s comfortable, though; at least that’s something. And, yeah, it’s weirdly nice being pressed up against Leliana in a warm and mostly safe space. It’s not like being on the road, shivering in the cold and tugging at blankets; not like when they curl up together because they have to, or like the last time when Leliana just refused to come to bed at all, when Sera was left shivering and miserable all night on her own. It wasn’t good, but they’ve come so far together since that it feels almost like a new beginning.

Honestly, maybe that’s part of the reason why she has trouble sleeping. Feels too good, too comfy all curled up in Leliana’s arms. Familiar, almost soothing. The rhythm of her breathing, the way her body shifts as she dreams, the way her arms tighten around her… it touches parts of her that she’d never admit to if they were both awake. Holds her like she matters, even when she’s asleep, like even now she still means something to her, like even in the middle of the night in a shitty tavern stupid Sera is worth holding close.

Might be okay if it was just that, but of course it’s not. Because, yeah, she does sleep a little. A very little, sure, but it’s enough. Restless, uncomfortable, and full of dreams.

Different this time, but not better. Gone are the lingering lonely dreams of long-dead sort-of mothers, of hearths that were never truly homes, of a life she wishes she didn’t hate. Gone are the memories of feeling loved and wanted, of being warm and happy, of feeling like she might be safe for the first time in her life. It’s all gone, all that shit, and when she dreams now it’s darker and more violent. Heavy boots and heavier hands, running and running and running, swallowed by the shadows and drowning in the dark, letting it happen because it’ll hurt less than getting caught.

It’s all she does. Just runs and runs and runs, endless and exhausted, but when she looks over her shoulder at the silhouettes coming after her, it’s not Denerim dickheads or Val Royeaux nobles; it’s the best and brightest of the Inquisition, baying for her blood.

Milady Josie with her stupid clipboard, shouting shite about crimes against decency. Cullen, all strung out on lyrium, saying she’s a thief and a liar and a waste of time. The Inquisitor going on and on about Coryphallus and his demon army, and how they don’t have space for a nothing like her. Dorian and Madame Vivienne saying she’ll never be as fancy as they are, as clever as they are, as frigging _good_ as they are. Solas telling her she’ll never be a proper elf, and Blackwall pointing out that she’ll never really be human either. Cassandra calling her a coward, Iron Bull calling her a weakling, and Varric with all his stupid stories, never mentioning her at all.

Leliana too, of course. Right there at the front, she is, wrapped up in her cloak of birds. Running the fastest, getting the closest, fingers like talons through the gloves. _“You did this to yourself,”_ she says, and Sera sobs herself awake.

She rolls away from Leliana. Lurches right out of bed and crawls into the darkest corner she can find. Hard floor, hard wall, but the shadows are thick and dark and they keep her safe. Spends the rest of the night with her face pressed to her knees, hugging herself to smother the shaking. Prays to Andraste that she doesn’t wake Leliana with her whispers and whimpers and choked-down tears.

No way of knowing if she does or doesn’t, of course; Leliana’s too subtle to show if she does wake, and she’s smart enough not to mention it when the morning comes and she wakes for good. She makes a show of yawning, though, gives a lazy stretch, and pointedly does not ask why Sera’s curled up in the corner of the room and not in the nice warm bed. She just studies her for about half a second then sets to work pulling on her armour.

“Breakfast?” she asks when she’s done, and Sera uses the question to put the dreams out of her head completely.

She thinks about saying she’s not hungry. Kind of wants to, to be honest; makes her shake a little less to think about trying the hunger thing again, swearing off food completely and using the gnawing in her guts to to ground herself. Real tempting, that, and especially after all that talk about _Skyhold_ and _home_ and shit she’s not ready for. Tempting, yeah, but Leliana cuts her off before she can commit to it. Her hand is heavy on her shoulder, and her breath is warm in her ear, and when she talks about toast and jam and hot tea the eagerness in her voice is almost enough to convince Sera that she wants all that stuff too.

They head out into the market. Sera has a sneaking suspicion that it’s meant to be a challenge of some sort; they could just as easily grab something from the tavern, pisshead barkeep and all, but Leliana probably wants to test her, see if she can get past all those market stalls without trying to steal anything.

Sera makes it just fine, of course, though less out of any self-control or growth or whatever and more just to bloody spite her.

Breakfast is simple enough, toast and jam and hot tea just like Leliana said, and they eat quietly. Feels like being back on the road, though the milling crowds couldn’t be further away from all that open space. The atmosphere’s the same, at any rate: not much talking, but a lot of long looks. A couple of longing ones, too, but Sera tries not to think about that.

Leliana watches her, all overprotective and intense, making sure she eats properly, like she doesn’t trust Sera to do this shit by herself. Fair enough, really; Sera’s not exactly given her any reason to trust her on that score, has she? And anyway, at least watching is a step up from asking questions.

Still, she’s not exactly subtle, is she? Gives away a lot with her face, which Sera can only assume is for her benefit; narrowes her eyes, frowns or smiles by turns, all that shit. Makes Sera feel like she’s on display all the frigging time, but it’s better than trying to hide it. Surprises them both that it doesn’t make her angry.

Weird, how softness isn’t as scary in moments like this, not as horrible as it used to be. It’s not like she’s telling her what to do, not this time, not like she’s judging or anything; it all just feels like encouragement, like she’s wordlessly reminding Sera that they’re together, that it’s safe, that she doesn’t have to put herself through the ringer any more.

Should be terrifying, thinking about it that way, especially after last night, but it’s not. Maybe because she doesn’t actually _say_ any of that, makes it easier for Sera to pretend it’s all just in her head; then again, maybe she really is growing a little. Anyway, whatever the reason, it doesn’t chafe like she expects, and she makes the effort to behave like a normal person just because Leliana’s little smile is real pretty. Eats properly, or as properly as she ever does, and almost manages to get through a whole meal without dripping jam all over herself. _Almost_.

It’s probably not a coincidence, then, that Leliana insists on buying her a new overshirt.

“Josie would never forgive me if I let you return home in that state,” she says, and the toast settles unpleasantly in Sera’s stomach at the emphasis on _home_.

“Right.” Her voice is as tight as her body feels; she fists the frayed edges of her tunic, wraps the fabric around her fingers just to give her hands something to do, and ideally something that won’t result in white knuckles. “Milady Prim-And-Proper. Probably faint dead away if she knew what we got up to last—”

“Yes.” The interruption is kind of harsh, but she sounds much more amused than annoyed. “So perhaps it’s for the best if we don’t shout it from the battlements the moment we return, hm?”

The discomfort dissolves, just like that, and Sera laughs. “Shame,” she says. “Was looking forward to that.”

She snorts, too, all graceless and immature and shite; Leliana shakes her head at the display, but she doesn’t get all disgusted like Milady Josie would. Feels almost nice, the easiness of it, her sly sense of humour and the way she doesn’t look down on Sera for being a little less clever and a little more crude. Feels kind of like respect, or as close to it as she’s ever had, but Sera is neither brave nor stupid enough to say so out loud. Ruin a good moment, it would, and a good joke too. So, yeah, she just takes the moment for what it is, tries not to think too hard about the way it gets under her skin and warms her from the inside, the way it’s suddenly not so hard to think about stupid Skyhold without wanting to hide.

She swallows hard, drags herself back to the present, to here and now and their reason for being here in the first place.

“So,” she says, and clears her throat because she still sounds rough. “ _So_. We gonna go steal some shite, or what?”

“Such endearing enthusiasm,” Leliana says, with a little half-smirk that makes deep-buried parts of Sera melt just a bit. “You brighten even the dullest tasks.” She’s kidding, probably, but try telling that to Sera’s squirming insides. “I knew it was a clever idea to bring you along.”

Sera flushes. Ducks her head real quick, hopes that the mess of her hair will be enough to cover up the way her face is turning pink, the way she’s smiling just a bit as well.

“If you say so,” she mumbles.

“I do,” Leliana says.

“Right.” Not helping one bit, the way she flashes her teeth, and Sera flushes even harder. “Well. Yeah. Uh. Anyway, we should…”

“Indeed,” Leliana says. “We have dallied long enough, yes? We should get to work.”

Sera nods. Better than thinking, innit? Definitely better than standing there getting pinker by the second. She turns on her heels, all slow and deliberate and such, really tries to drive it home that Leliana hasn’t gotten under her skin, that she is _definitely_ not embarrassed. Works real hard to keep hold of what little dignity she hasn’t already blushed away. Saunters off, even though she has no frigging clue where they’re going…

…and promptly trips over her own feet.

Unsurprisingly, Leliana is not exactly helpful. “You see?” she purrs, all demure and deadpan. “ _Endearing_.”

Sera buries her face in her hands. “Shut up.”

Leliana, of course, does not.

*

Maybe half an hour later, they find themselves outside a derelict shithole in some dead-end corner of town.

It’s a weird choice of location, Sera thinks; no way there’s anything worth stealing. Still, though, she doesn’t immediately question it; she’s still feeling awkward, knees bruised and gravel sticking to her palms, and the last thing she wants is to humiliate herself even more by asking stupid questions.

Besides, she’s pretty sure she lived here a time or two, once or twice a billion years ago. Must have, anyway; all these places look the same, and she lived in enough of them. Can’t afford to be picky when you’re living rough, and you sure as shit can’t afford to waste time writing down house numbers or whatever. So maybe she did or maybe she didn’t, but she knows the setting well enough that it don’t make much difference. Still, though, it’s a weird feeling, like she’s letting Leliana into the guts of her world. Feels almost more intimate, in its own way, than the shit they got up to last night.

“Be on your guard,” Leliana’s saying. “I don’t imagine we’ll run into much trouble out here, but…”

Sera shakes her head. Interrupts, because she knows better. “We will,” she says. “We bloody will.”

True, that. Whether she’s really been exactly here or not, Sera’s been in and out of places like this her whole life, and she knows exactly the kind of trouble they’re likely to find; smashed-in windows and boarded-up doors in some rotted-out hovel might not be good enough for fancy-pants Milady Josie or her rich-tit noble friends, but for beat and broken nobodies like Sera it could make a bloody good home for a week or two. If anyone’s laying low inside, that’ll be trouble enough if Leliana doesn’t keep things civil; a room full of squatters and derelicts and half-dead urchins won’t do nothing if they know they’re safe, but Sera has seen the shit that desperate people do when they feel cornered.

Sets off klaxons in her head, thinking about it, and all the morning’s good humour drains right out of her. Schools her face, turns her spine to steel, and looks Leliana right in the eye.

“Oi,” she hisses, suddenly dangerous. “You ever tell me what we’re after?”

Leliana looks away, smiling tight and tense. “If you have to ask the question…”

All sugar and spice, the way she says it, but there’s something ominous underneath, something that sets Sera’s teeth on edge, makes every part of her itch and twitch. In another place, another moment, she might’ve gotten sucked in, might’ve swallowed the sugar without even thinking. Sweet words, sweet smile, it’s won her over more than a few times since they got here, but here and now it feels false. Feels like a trap, and her entire body is shaking, aching to turn around and shout _’I knew it!’_ , to call this whatever-it-is out before it turns sour, before Leliana gets the chance to do it first. Aches for it, yeah, but then maybe she’s come a bit further than she thought because there’s still a tiny part of her that hesitates. Real tiny, yeah, but it stops her in her tracks, tastes the sugar in Leliana’s smile and wants so badly to swallow it down.

“Leliana…”

The name tastes weird on her tongue, not sweet at all, but not as bitter as she expects either. It tastes like something exotic, something forbidden, like the fancy Orlesian food that made her sick the first time she tried it because she’d never tasted anything so rich. She’s trying to make the name into a warning, a demand for honesty, but it feels so frigging odd inside her mouth that it ends up sounding like a whine.

“Sera.” There’s none of that fancy complicated weirdness in her own name, of course. Just sounds stupid and shitty, doesn’t it? _Sera_ , like she’s so bloody common. “Come, now. Are we not past all this silly suspicion by now?”

Should be, yeah. Wants to be, maybe. But then, that’s just Sera all over, innit? Should be a lot of things, wants to be even more, but what use are words like _should_ and _want_ when she’s just not good enough? Sshould listen to the world around her, yeah, should listen and look and see that things have changed, that she doesn’t live here any more, that this world isn’t hers now. Wants to do all those things too, to bury it all and let it die just like Leliana told her to, to hear sweetness in a Spymaster’s voice and believe that it won’t turn bitter.

Thing is, Leliana’s right. They really should be over this shit; Sera should be able to trust her, or at least take her word at face-value. It’s been a full day since they got here; she’s had a thousand opportunities to kick her away if she wanted to, but here they are, and she can feel how earnest and open she is, the faith pouring off her, practically begging Sera to find some faith of her own, to _trust_ for once in her life. She can feel all that, knows in her gut that it’s real, but even now she’s clinging to the only thing that makes sense to her, betrayal and lies and hate; the evidence in Leliana’s favour is stacked up taller than she is, but still Sera stumbles and falls back to this. Still, even now, it’s easier for her to brace for the lie than open up to the truth.

“Just be straight with me.” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “For once in your frigging life, _Nightingale_ , can’t you just be straight with someone?”

It’s close to a plea, desperate and halting, and maybe Leliana sees something else in the way she asks, the way she’s almost begging. Because, yeah, Sera’s not the only one letting go of old habits, is she? She’s not the only one still clinging to the shadows even in broad bloody daylight. Leliana might have an easier time playing her stupid Game than Sera ever did, but it’s not so easy to take off the mask and look someone in the eye. And, yeah, okay, maybe she’s angry and paranoid and suspicious, maybe she’s all that shit, but it’s not like Leliana hasn’t given her a dozen reasons to be that way. Spymaster, secret-keeper, Shadow of Birds; you’ve got to be bloody mad to take someone like that at their word, even with all that evidence.

Leliana’s not stupid. She gets that. Maybe hurts to admit it, to look inside herself and realise it’s not just Sera being silly and paranoid, that maybe she’s partly to blame for always keeping shit to close to her chest. They’re clashing, yeah, but they’ve both got their reasons for it. That’s a weight off Sera’s shoulders too; nice, having someone like this, someone screwed-up in the same way that she is, who understands moments like this. _Really_ nice, having someone she doesn’t have to tiptoe around after she loses her temper. Cassandra and the Inquisitor are decent, yeah, and they’re more receptive than most to her flights of violence, but they don’t really understand, don’t see the dark places it comes from. They don’t see the shadows the way Leliana does, and they sure as shit don’t live there too.

After a long moment, Leliana sighs. “I have been,” she says, as soft as anything Sera’s ever heard. “I’ve been completely honest with you. Completely… straight, as you say.”

Doesn’t tell Sera to stop being suspicious this time, though, does she?

So, yeah, Sera bristles. Holds that suspicion close, the anger closer, because she’s so frigging scared of looking like an idiot. “Piss. Nothing worth stealing in a place like this. Nothing valuable. Nothing… frigging _nothing_. So you better—”

“Is that what you’re so upset about?” Leliana laughs, but it’s not like her usual laugh. Nothing sweet in it, nothing melodic or soft, none of what she usually does; it’s low and throaty, and it sounds more like a cough than a laugh. “Sera, I did not say our prey is valuable. I simply said it was something I wanted to get my hands on. And so it is.”

“You… what?”

“Come now, Sera. You of all people must surely understand that financial gain is not the only reason for taking something. Survival, as you well know. Hunger, lust, passion, jealousy, greed, even sentimentality. A thousand possible reasons, yes? And we in the Inquisition… what need do we have to accumulate wealth so basely?” She tilts Sera’s chin upwards, tries to make eye-contact, but Sera doesn’t let her. “You assume so much.”

 _Not this time,_ Sera thinks, and tenses against the touch. She won’t be the one getting fingers pointed in her face, not this bloody time. “Yeah, well. You’re so frigging secretive, innit? You’re the one being all evasive and Spymastery and whatever. Why all that cloak-and-dagger piss if it’s just some cheap shitty trinket you took a fancy to?”

Leliana shrugs, concedes the point. “Force of habit, I suppose. I can’t really explain why I do things the way I do; I simply do them. Something that I’m sure you yourself understand quite well.” She gives up trying to meet Sera’s eyes, nudges her playfully in the stomach instead. “And speaking of unexplainable habits, you did a splendid jod with breakfast. Moderation, after all, is the—”

“Don’t change the frigging subject.”

Snaps her head up right quick, glares fire at her, and only realises when it’s too late that this is what Leliana wanted, the eye-contact she was pushing for.

“There we go,” she says, smiling like sunlight. “Much more civilised, yes?”

Sera glowers, but doesn’t argue. Still doesn’t like it, though. Still can’t shake those part of her that thinks this has to be some stupid trap, the part that has kept itself alive this long by assuming everything is dangerous. Still can’t ignore the scratchy little voice in the back of her head telling her that something awful is going to take her by the throat as soon as she opens that door, that this is still just some big elaborate plan to kill her off and make it look like an accident. So stupid, so frigging stupid, and she knows it… but…

 _Ugh._ She’s come so far. Come so frigging far… and still, when it comes down to it, every time she’s reduced to this.

Leliana can see all that in her eyes. Maybe that’s why it was so bloody important to get a good look at them, get right up in Sera’s face. Windows to the soul or something; she’s sure she heard that somewhere, and maybe hers show things the rest of her hides. Or, yeah, maybe she’s just shit at hiding her hand. Whatever the reason, Leliana doesn’t hesitate to close the space between them, fill up all the breath Sera’s wasted on presumption and panic and thoughts she should’ve laid to rest a long time ago. Fills everything right up with her, the smell of bird the press of leather and chaimail, a kiss as quick as it is pointed, fills it all up until there’s nothing left but _them_ , the two of them together. Takes Sera by the hand and holds on tight.

“Come, then,” she says, ever so softly. “Shall we go inside?”

*

Inside, Sera starts shaking.

Not like demon-shaking or magic-shaking. That’s easy, that is, the kind of shaking that never goes beyond her limbs, weak knees and trembling fingers, the kind that bottoms out before it can stop her holding her bow or making a clean shot. That’s fear-shaking, and Sera knows it like the back of her hand; she’s spent so long staring down shit that scares her, she’s got a real good handle on holding it in check. Can’t stop herself from being scared, but she can lock her muscles tight and get the bloody job done. A little twitching, a whimper or two and a tremor in her hands, but never anything more. Swallows it down good, does what needs to be done, and saves the screams for later, when no-one is around to hear them.

This is very different. For a start there’s no screaming, thank Andraste, but it’s more just than that. It lands like a blow, vibrates all through her. No shivery limbs, no gut-punch of panic or cold sweat, no locked-up muscles to make things easier; she’s damn near bent double, driven right down to the ground. It’s powerful, yeah, and visceral, and maybe fear is those things too, sometimes, but this is nothing like that.

It’s more like memory, and of course that’s what Denerim does best, innit? Memory, punching her in all the places she’s weak, all the places she still feels small. _Memory_ , and she looks around this awful place and has a real hard time remembering that it’s not still _now_. She’s lived here, or places like here, and when she sees the silhouettes of the hunkered-down squatters, sees the way their eyes burn in the darkest corners, it’s all she can do not to drown in everything she was.

No escaping the bodies, not when she knows they’re there. The sad faces, shadowed and smudged with dirt and Maker knows what else. The tattered clothes, no good for keeping out rain or anything, the low moans that could mean hunger or sickness or exhaustion or all three together. They’re here, just as she said they would be, beaten and bloody and broken down, squatting here because they have nowhere else to go, and her chest tightens with empathy every time they move.

 _Look at them,_ she thinks. _Frigging look at them_.

Hard to, though. Andraste, it’s hard. Hard to look, hard to see, hard to know. So frigging hard to remember.

Black eyes and bloody noses, jutting ribs all but visible through the holes in their shirts, panic twisting their faces when they lift their heads to see who’s there, whether it’s an attack or more nobodies like them. A split-second poised to attack, ready to kill if that’s what it takes to stay safe. They don’t care that they’re here to steal from them, Sera knows; like she said, there’s nothing worth taking here anyway. They don’t care what they want at all, so long as it’s not _them_.

It’s only a second, and Leliana’s smart enough to read the mood, to show her hands and show she’s not dangerous. Probably the thing that saves them from all that ‘trouble’ Sera warned about. Because, yeah, a split-second of bone-shattering tension, and then it’s over. Terrified, breathless, and in a heartbeat they all unclench, every one of them in perfect unison.

Sera remembers that feeling all too well. Wasn’t so long ago, was it? Not so long at all since she was one of them, huddled and shivering on the floor of some abandoned whatever, not caring what people did when they bashed down the door, just so long as they didn’t rough her up too, not caring what they took so long as they didn’t take her. Not so long since she was exactly like this, and look at where she is now. Inquisition, Skyhold, so many fancy names she can barely keep them all straight in her head. All high and mighty now, isn’t she? Living it up in that beat-up old fortress. She sees more food in a day than these poor bastards probably see in a frigging month.

Makes her feel sick. Like, really violently sick, worse than all the over-eating in the whole frigging world.

“Sera.”

Leliana. Of course it is; who else would it be? She’s got one hand on Sera’s shoulder, the other still holding her hand, squeezing her fingers like that might ground her. Must see the way she’s going pale, or else feel the way she’s trembling, and maybe she thinks all this touching will help, but how can it? How do you help against something like this? How do you take away the parts of her that remember, that used to be just like this, that still spends every last second waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the moment when she wakes up and realises she still is? How can a touch and a name take all that away?

Honestly, though, she’s not sure she would, even if she could. Take away those parts of herself, those memories, the waiting and the dreading, all that shit that these people still go through every damn day. Could she live with herself if she could look them in the eyes, see their fear and their pain, hunger and desperation and all of it, see it all and not remember what it was like? Could she live with herself if she could be detached and dissociated from something so painful, so raw, so frigging real?

No. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. _Won’t_. Better off dead than that. Better off bloody dead.

“Help them,” she hears herself whisper, voice rough with tears. Hates that they can hear her, hates that the words mark her as something other, something that’s not them. “ _Nightingale_ …”

Because, yeah. Can’t say _Leliana_ here. Too close, that is. Too close and too painful, and just—

“Sera.”

“No.” Sera shakes her head. “Inquisition’s got connections, yeah? Resources, people, money, all sorts of stuff. Allies, even. All that stupid fancy-pants shit that gets Milady Josie’s smallclothes wet. Whatever, you know? We got so much worthless shit lying around, piling up, and what do we do with it?” Feels sicker, thinking about it. “Do something with it, yeah? For once in your stupid frigging lives, do something _good_.”

“Sera.” Her voice is tight this time, cold, like it’s hurting her too. She squeezes her shoulder, hard enough that Sera winces, maybe to prove her point. “The Inquisition’s focus is Corypheus. You know this.”

“So you can’t spare a frigging fire? A hot meal? A sodding _blanket_?”

“We do what we can.” She sighs, heavy and weary and awful, like she understands but is too bloody practical for her own good, for anyone’s good. “We send along what we can to those in need. You know we do; you have participated yourself. And you also know, I hope, that it is not as simple as redistributing resources and hoping for the best.” Squeezes her shoulder a little harder, and Sera relishes the physical pain. “Even if our priorities weren’t elsewhere, we could never help every soul in need. Even if we had all the resources of Thedas at our disposal, which we do not… even if we pooled all of the Inquisition’s influence, which we cannot… it still would not be enough.”

“Be more than bloody nothing, though, wouldn’t it? Be frigging _something_!” She doesn’t want to cry, but she’ll do something far worse if she doesn’t, so she lets a sob catch in her throat, lets Leliana hear it. “All those rich pricks down in Val Royeaux. All our sodding _allies_. They’d spit on people like this as soon as look at them, and you frigging know it. But hey, who cares, so long as they throw their weight behind the sodding Inquisition! All hail us, right?”

“Sera!”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry. Can’t talk bad about our allies, right? Can’t talk piss about them, or Milady Josie will have to throw another frigging party to get them back on our side.” Throws up her hands to punctuate the point, doesn’t even care that she almost catches Leliana in the face. “That’s what’s important, innit? Get the frigging nobles all good and sloshed so they’ll pledge their frigging allegiance. And what does shit like that cost, huh? More than this lot ever seen in their life. More money, more liquor, more frigging _food_ , and they wonder why—”

“Oh?” Just one syllable, but it’s sharper than a blade, and it cuts Sera off as clean and deadly as anything she’s ever felt. “From my recollection, Sera, at our last soiree, you ate rather more of that precious food than any of our esteemed guests.”

“I—”

Can’t, though, because the truth of it lands like a punch to the gut, makes her double over.

It all comes back to her, then, a tidal-wave of shame and horror. In its own way, it’s a thousand times worse than the memories of being here, of living like these people. Easy memories, the kind she can make into something harder than they were, but this? The shit that came after? It tears through her, memory like a Seeker’s sword, cuts to the truth.

Remembers it all, doesn’t she? Eating too much, hiding in the rookery, chewing on leaves to help with the nausea. Remembers doing the same thing here when they got here too, stealing too much and eating it all, running away and hiding in the shadows, remembers yelling her lungs out when she got to the bottom of her stash and found that stupid cookie, remembers how the sight of it made her feel worse than everything else combined.

Remembers the look on Leliana’s face, both times. Different there and here, different but so soft in both places. Remembers the way she reached out to her in the Skyhold rookery, the way she tried to connect in the Denerim alley, the way she always tried to understand even when she knew she couldn’t. Remembers how much she hated that, remembers twisting, resisting, shouting, remembers doing everything she could to push her away, to drive away anything that might remind her she didn’t need to do those things.

Remembers this life too, but it’s a lot fuzzier now than it was when they stepped through the door. Remembers being here, run-down derelict old buildings just like this, nothing but skin and bones, shivering and swearing and so impossibly small. No blankets, no food, no nothing, none of the shite that come so easily to her now, none of the shite she can steal in Skyhold without even thinking.

Remembers having nothing, remembers it as clear as day, but she’s been living it up for so long, she never even noticed that it’s not like that any more. So blind, so frigging focused on taking anything she can get her stupid selfish hands on, and she never stopped to see that it was hers in the first place. Don’t need to steal something that’s already yours, right? She’s been stealing so much for herself, and it’s only now that she realises she never even needed it.

Her stomach lurches, sharp and sudden, and she bites down hard on her tongue. Could’ve done so much, couldn’t she? Had the chance, the resources, the whole frigging world. All the shit she steals in Skyhold, all the piss she shoves into her mouth. Could’ve helped so many people with it, could’ve done so much bloody _good_ , and what did she do instead? Curled up inside herself because her frigging survival was so much more important than all these poor dying bastards. Had to keep her frigging skills sharp on the off-chance that one day she might need to remember how. Had to remember how to survive because she _might_ need to do it again, and she never once spared a thought for all the people who still do.

Worse than the fucking nobles, she is. A thousand times worse, because she’s supposed to know better.

She’s been here, hasn’t she? Isn’t that the whole frigging point? A thousand bloody times, she’s been here, and the second she got out all she could think about is what would happen when she got chucked back. _Me, me, me_ , the only thought in her head the whole frigging time, and she stuffed herself so full with her own imaginary survival that she forgot the little people still out there living it for real. Every second, every minute, every day of their lives, they’re _still here_ , and there’s Sera living it up in Skyhold with half of Thedas at her fingertips, and what fucking good has she done with it?

Frigging _none_.

Hates herself. Really, really hates herself, and she’s never felt so sick in her life.

“Sera…”

“Don’t.”

She’s shaking right through, drenched in cold sweat, bile rising up in her throat, her mouth, but she doesn’t let herself vomit. Fights it down, because that would be easy, and she doesn’t bloody deserve easy. Can’t get the selfishness out of herself as easily as too much food, can she? And she definitely doesn’t deserve to make herself feel better the way she know that would.

“Don’t,” she says again. “Don’t say nothing. Don’t do nothing. Don’t… don’t…”

So Leliana doesn’t. Doesn’t do anything at all. Just stands there, all quiet and patient and shit, like they’re not smack in the middle of Sera’s worst nightmare. Just stands there, she does, like a frigging ghost.

Sera chews on her tongue. Looks around, maps out the dark corners, the shivering shapes huddled there, wishes they would look at her with familiarity, wishes they would see the thing she used to be and not the thing she is now, the selfish awful creature who would steal for herself and not even think about the likes of them. She’d give anything to undo all that now, to go back and rethink everything, force herself to see the people still living the life she’s escaped from. Stop living in _what if?_ and _when?_ and shit like that, and start living for the people who don’t get the luxury of asking those questions.

Wants to drop everything. Right here and right now, she wants to drop everything they’re here for. Gather up all these broken souls and do something, _anything_ to help them. Wants to, so frigging desperately, but then what’s she supposed to do? Leliana’s right: there’s only so much help anyone can offer when there are so many who need it, even someone tied to the frigging Inquisition. Maker, even if she could somehow find a way to get them all back to Skyhold, she’s pretty sure half of them would never survive the journey.

Hates that, too. Not as much as she hates herself, but she hates it. Because, yeah, Leliana’s right, and yeah, Sera’s blind and stupid and selfish and small-minded and all those awful things. Nothing they can do here, nothing that’ll count. Frigging _nothing_ , just like she used to be, except she’s supposed to be better now, isn’t she? Supposed to be more, and what bloody good is that? What’s the bloody point in being more than nothing when _nothing_ is still all she’s good for?

She takes a breath. Swallows down the sick feeling, the self-hatred, all of it. Forces it all back and forces herself to at least try. Can’t take back the stupidity, the selfishness, the awful taste in her mouth. Can’t take back all the things she should’ve done better, all the things she wasted and ruined while thinking of her own survival. Can’t do any of that, but she can draw the line here. Not much, true, but it’s more than frigging nothing.

“We’re done here,” she hears herself say. It’s weird, how tough her voice sounds when the rest of her feels exactly the opposite. Kind of like a kitten trying to growl at a lion; she doesn’t stand a chance against Leliana and they both know it, but she’ll let the Shadow of Birds kill her right here before she’ll let herself steal from people who need it. Never again. “You hear? Whatever you dragged me here for, whatever you want, you can forget it. We’re frigging done.”

“Sera—”

“No. We don’t… you don’t…” The toughness dissolves, gone like it was never there, and she doesn’t even bother trying to find it again. “These people got nothing, yeah? Nothing. We can’t steal from them. Frigging _can’t_ …” Shakes her head, desperate and hurting. “Can’t give back? Okay. Fair play. I get it. Coryphefish fries the whole frigging world, no-one left to save anyway, so we gotta do the deed on him before we look down and see the important shite. Fine. Wrong way round, but whatever; I get it. We do what we got to and all that. But this? Stealing from a place like this? _People_ like this? No chance. No way. Frigging _no_. You’ll go through me before you take anything from them.”

Leliana studies her for a moment with an odd look on her face. “That is… surprisingly brave of you,” she says after a moment. “Or perhaps not so surprising at all, given your history here. But in any case, your concern is needless. Do you really think so little of me, that you expect me to tear the clothes from these poor people’s backs?”

Sera hisses. “Don’t know what to think of you, do I? You never bloody tell me nothing.”

“A fair point.”

Didn’t expect that, but she’s not about to dwell on it now. “Then what?” she snaps. “We’re just here to, what, see the frigging sights? Remind me of what a shit I am? _What_?”

“Breathe, Sera.”

“Piss on breathing,” Sera snaps. “And piss on you.” She’s shaking again, but not from nausea this time. “Mean it, yeah? You touch these people… you frigging _think_ of touching them…” Throws up her hands because she doesn’t have the strength to see the threat through; she’s so angry, so upset, so many things, and all at the same time; honestly it’s a miracle she’s got this far. “Just…”

“Sera. I promise you, your threats are unnecessary. I have no intention of harming these people, or taking anything that they might be able to use.” She looks so frigging honest, so sincere; it takes everything Sera has in her to remember that she’s a secret-keeper, a Spymaster who lives on lies. “The item I seek is somewhat… well, it is rather unique. And I can say with absolute certainty that there is only one person in this building who could possibly make use of it.”

Sera narrows her eyes. Got to be some real specialist shite, then, doesn’t it? Got to be, if Sister Nightingale is the only one who can bloody use it. Still, she appreciates the promise, assuming it’s valid.

“You swear it?” she asks, pitiful as a child.

Leliana nods, keeps her head bowed for a moment longer than she needs to. “I swear it.”

“Okay.” She swallows. “I guess.”

Hard to say, that, and harder to hear. Feels like she’s giving in or something stupid, like she’s not tough enough to counter the big bad Nightingale so she might as well just roll over and play dead. Makes her feel stupid again, and that makes her angry.

Leliana sighs, cuts off the anger before it can spread. Looks her in the eye, all careful and shit, like Sera really is as little and worthless as she feels.

“Do you trust me?” she asks.

Good one, that, and Sera laughs. “Does _anyone_ trust you?”

“A fair question.” Her voice gets low when she says it, though, kind of sad, like she’s not so proud of her reputation as she wants people to believe. “If you want it answered, you’ll have to ask our mutual friends back at Skyhold. In truth, though, I’d be surprised if you found anyone willing to admit to either side.”

“Leliana!”

Another sigh, this one heavier, like it took more out of her than she’d ever admit, thinking about what other people think of her. Weird, in a way; Sera always just kind of assumed that not being trusted was kind of a good thing for someone who took on the title of Spymaster. Got to be a good thing, keeping everyone at arms’ length when you work with subterfuge and secrets and shit, right? Better if they don’t know which side of your face is the honest one, or even if there is an honest one at all. Nothing wrong with that, Sera thinks, and it must make the whole ‘army off feathery bird assassins’ thing a whole lot easier on the conscience. Keep your distance, keep yourself hidden, then you don’t have to dream about the people you’ve sent off to their deaths.

Sera doesn’t know much about Leliana. Heard rumours that she used to play the Game, and of course there’s that vision in her head of a smiling lay-sister, short-haired and eager, though honestly she’s not sure how much of that comes from stories and how much comes from vague half-memories locked up in some broken corner of her brain. Tries not to visit that part of herself too often, and definitely tries not to wonder whether their paths really did cross.

Either way, Leliana as she is now seems like the type who’d go out of her way not to be trusted; whether she’s doing serious secret Spymaster stuff or just causing mischief (because yeah, she’s got the face for that), or whatever, it’s a good tool. She spends her days wrapped up in shadows and birds, for the love of whatever; there’s only one kind of message that getup gives out, and it sure as shit isn’t _’trust me’_.

But the look on her face right now says that’s not what it is at all. There’s a bit of pride, sure, but it’s mostly shut down by something else, something almost lonely, like maybe she doesn’t want to _just_ be the Shadow of Birds any more, like maybe she really does want to come down from the rookery once in a while. Knows it’s not safe, just like Sera does, but she looks so hopeful now, like maybe it’s worth it. Looks like someone who’s forgotten how to walk, only in her case it’s more like someone who’s forgotten how to do other things, how to play a game that doesn’t come in capital letters or play pranks that don’t end with blood on the walls. Sad, kind of and Sera’s heart would ache for her if there was enough left of it to ache for anyone other than the shadowy squatters in here.

Uncomfortable, innit? Awkward, because this is new stuff for both of them. Still, she tries. Straightens up for both their sakes, and doesn’t look Leliana in the eye.

“Look,” she says. “Forget about the trust thing, yeah? Doesn’t matter whether I have it or you get it or whatever else. That’s not… that’s not either of our thing, you know? Never been, might never be, and who frigging cares? You don’t want it anyway, and I don’t want to give it, so… so how about we just don’t?”

Leliana bows her head, eyes shadowed by her stupid hood. “As you wish,” she says, very quietly.

Sera swallows, tries to ignore the taste of acid on her tongue. “But that’s not… it doesn’t matter, yeah? We’re still… I’m still here. Still letting you drag me around this shithole, letting you go hunting for your precious secret whatever and not asking questions and all that shite. Still here, with you. And you… you know how bad that hurts.”

Hard to keep going, and her limbs feel heavy; Leliana squeezes her shoulder, fingers strong as steel through those thick leather gloves. “I do.”

“Right.” Steadies herself, breathes just like Leliana told her to. “So, yeah. You get the benefit of the doubt or whatever. For now. Don’t have to call it ‘trust’, just… I dunno, giving you a chance. Same as I got, last time I was here. Can’t do more than that, right?” Leliana opens her mouth, sucks in a breath, but Sera doesn’t let her talk. “Don’t take it the wrong way or nothing. You let me down, I’ll put an arrow in your face faster than you can blink. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Leliana doesn’t point out the shit they both know: that Sera couldn’t shaft her even if she tried, that she’d get shanked by an assassin before she even got a hand on her bow. Instead, she just says, “I don’t doubt it,” like she really believes it.

“Good. Because I bloody will. But, hey. You do good, then we’re good too. You don’t let me down, we both go back to Skyhold in one piece. Okay?”

At long last, Leliana raises her head. Lets Sera see her smile, bright and beautiful even in a place as dark and awful as this. Squeezes her shoulder one last time, then takes her by the hand.

“Thank you,” she says.

Sounds like she really means it too. Not just a little bit, either, but a whole lot, like being sort-of trusted, or at least not _not_ -trusted is the whole frigging world to her right now. Maybe like it’s doubly precious because it comes from Sera. Stupid as anything, that; Sera knows she’s not worth that much, but the shiver in her voice makes it so frigging easy to think she is.

Finds herself almost smiling back, too, and that’s no small thing given where they are. Leliana’s glove is worn around the fingers, soft and yielding against her palm, and it’s almost more than Sera can do to keep from closing her eyes, imagining the leather swept away, replaced by skin on skin and whispers that light up even this dark horrible place.

“Whatever,” she mutters, fingers shaking as she holds on tight.

*

So, yeah.

Leliana sets to work searching for her precious whatever, but Sera doesn’t help. She should be, she knows, and kind of wants to; it’s why she’s here in the first place, innit? And, yeah, she feels bad leaving all the hard graft to Leliana, but without the grounding contact of her hand, her smile, her closeness, it pretty much takes everything she has just to keep from screaming.

Leliana scouts the place by herself, disappearing into another room, but Sera just crouches there on the ground, watches those desperate little people hiding in the shadows, vision blurring with tears she refuses to shed. They’re so broken, all of them, they don’t even care that some shadowy redhead in a hood is ransacking the only place they have to call home.

Hurts. In her guts, her bones, her frigging _soul_ , it hurts. And, yeah, she wants to help Leliana, wants to make herself useful, but she can’t. Not in here. Not with her people, her once-people, all around her.

Crouches there, watching, worthless, whispering shit like _“are you done yet?”_ or _“can we go?”_ over and over again, knowing that Leliana can’t hear her. Scratches at the floorboards to keep from losing her mind. Blunt nails, don’t do nothing against even the rotted wood of this place, but it keeps her breathing, keeps her distracted, keeps her from focusing too hard on the things that hurt so much, the quiet coughing and the low moans, pain muffled to avoid unwanted attention, the memory of her own raspy voice joining in. It’s al so brutal, so familiar, the thrumming heartbeat of shattered souls in dark corners, and a part of her wants to block it all out, lock it up in a corner of herself that knows how to forget, but the rest of her knows that no-one should ever block out things like this.

Easy enough to block out a noise, sure; who does it hurt, ignoring shit like that? But ignoring _people_? That’s a whole different thing. Got to be worse than heartless to want to do that, and Sera won’t ever be heartless, no matter how much it hurts not to be. Better to hurt with them than close your eyes and your ears and pretend no-one’s hurting at all.

Leliana, for her part, is blessedly efficient; even without Sera’s help it doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. She’s back by her side in maybe three minutes, and Sera’s too frigging relieved to wonder how she got through this place so fast, if maybe she knew the exact spot to look. Probably did, what with her sources and all. Sera doesn’t care about that shite, though, doesn’t care about anything. Only thing that matters is getting out of here, getting back where she can breathe without stifling a scream.

“You done?” she asks, voice less than a whisper.

Leliana nods. Lips drawn into a thin line, like she can see how much it’s costing Sera to be here, how deep that pain goes. “We’re done,” she affirms, very quietly. “We can leave whenever you like.”

Sera doesn’t need telling twice. Doesn’t even need telling once, really; she’s on her feet almost before Leliana’s got the words out.

Moves like lightning, stumbling out of there and back into the light like a woman possessed, like there’s demons and god-magisters and whatever else on her tail, like it’s monsters instead of just people. Can’t get out of there quick enough, she thinks, and hates herself. She’s been where those poor broken buggers are, been one of them herself, and now she can’t even stand to look at them.

Should stay, shouldn’t she? Should stay there, talk to them, help where she can. Should bloody do something, right? Should frigging try, at least, or even just _want_ to try; even wanting, helpless and useless, is better than running away like a bloody coward. But then, here she is, doing exactly that. Running, putting as much distance as she can between herself and the people who look so much like she used to. A coward, an idiot, and every bit as bad as the posh pricks she looks down on.

These are the people she’s doing this for. Joined the Inquisition for their sake, didn’t she? To keep those big-hats in line, make sure they didn’t forget the little people, the broken-down buggers living and dying in shitholes like this. All this Coryphanus piss got in the way, sure, but she can’t blame him for everything. It’s on her, just like Leliana said; she’s supposed to be helping, supposed to be looking out for her people. They’re the ones that matter, and she hates herself for the way she sees that, knows it, understands it in a way that people like Leliana never will, never can, hates that she sees and knows and understands, that she feels it all right in her soul and still frigging runs away.

Runs out of breath before she can get too far. Too much feeling, too much hurt, too much of everything makes it hard to breathe and run at the same time. Stops dead, legs all but flying out from under her, and screams long and loud for what feels like forever.

She braces against the wall when she’s done, when there’s nothing left in her. Palms pressed flat to the surface, forehead sweaty and pale between them, skin against stone. The wall is weather-beaten too, just like the stupid house was; a good kick at the right angle could probably bring it down. If she’d been in a more destructive mood, Sera might’ve taken a shot just to see if she could. Can’t stand the idea right now, though; she’s seen more than enough mindless destruction today, and her belly’s still churning from it.

Leliana gives her some space. Respectful, yeah, but empathic too; she doesn’t understand it in her bones, but she feels it in her heart, and she doesn’t want to interfere. Sera can hear her breathing a few paces back, steady and patient, but she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move either, just waits quietly while Sera chokes on her spit and tries not to puke.

It’s maybe ten minutes before she trusts herself to talk, and when she does all she can get out is, “Frigging _hate_ this.”

“I know you do,” Leliana says. “I’m sorry.”

Sera shakes her head, grit from the wall cutting into her cheek. “Should’ve helped,” she forces out. “Should’ve… why didn’t we frigging _help_?”

Doesn’t mean _‘we’_ at all, though, does she? This isn’t about Leliana, the stone-hearted secret-keeping Spymaster who’s built her life on moving through the shadows. Sera doesn’t know what she does with her time up there in that bloody rookery, but she has a horrible feeling that she’s done more good for people like that than Sera has in a very long time. Because, yeah, that’s what she means when she says _‘we’_ : stupid Sera in her stupid tavern, stealing everything she can get her stupid hands on, and all for herself, in the name of stupid sodding _survival_. First time in her life she’s in a position to use her skills for good, and who does she help?

She bites down on another scream, another sob. Bites down on the urge to bash her worthless head against the wall. Hates, hates, hates, _hates_.

“Oh, Sera.”

Leliana. She keeps her voice down, and it carries badly, but she trusts that Sera’s ears are good enough, and doesn’t close the space between them. Still showing some respect, maybe, or maybe just frightened; Sera’s not exactly predictable at the best of times, and right now she’s more of a loose-cannon than ever. Probably afraid of getting something worse than arrows in her face.

“Don’t…” Sera chokes out, but for once she doesn’t mean it. Actually wants the comfort this time, wants someone to tell her she’s really not as horrible as she knows she is. “I…”

“Sera.” Again, softer, but no harder to hear. “You try to make things so simple. And for myself, for others in the Inquisition, perhaps they are. We only have to look at these people, gauge their needs and their struggles, observe and act from a safe distance. Simple when put like that, yes. But it is not that way for you, and you must not put the same pressures on yourself as you do on us.”

“Why not?” Sera asks, because she really doesn’t understand.

Leliana sighs. “We are apart from this life. The Inquisitor, Josephine, myself… to people like us, their suffering is an abstract concept. For us, helping is simply extending a hand and waiting for someone to take it. Nameless, faceless, and impersonal. But you… you do not have the luxury of only seeing, Sera. You feel it as well, like a phantom limb or the memory of a terrible trauma.” She takes a step forward, but only one. “It is like looking into a mirror, no? Seeing these people, remembering when you were the same. You re-live your own hurts, your own struggles. Thus, their suffering becomes personal. It becomes yours again. Yes?”

“That’s no excuse,” Sera says. “Should be better. Should be…”

“I wasn’t trying to excuse you,” Leliana replies. “Nor should I.”

“Right.” Closes her eyes just for a second, fingers spread across the stone wall. “Good. Because I… I…”

“You have been thoughtless, yes. Selfish, yes. But that is not a crime punishable by death, nor is it a fatal illness. And, given the circumstances, it is understandable. Your struggles mark you deeper than you care to admit, and you cannot separate yourself from the things you see as easily as you might like. But perhaps at last you are in a position to begin the journey, hm?”

“I…” Still can’t get out more than that, though, and she shakes her head.

“Very well.” There’s a hitch in her breath, almost louder than the words themselves. “Allow me to share some of your burden then. When we return to Skyhold, I’ll send out some of my best and fastest agents. We can offer some relief to those worst off here in Denerim — food, blankets, as you say — on behalf of us both. It may not do much, and there will doubtless be a great many we will not reach… but in your own words, it is something, no?”

Sera breathes in, holds it. “Something,” she echoes, clinging to the word.

“Yes.” Makes it sound so simple, she does; Sera wishes that it really was. “You know we can’t help everyone. As difficult as it is to accept, and all the more so faced with the reality… but you were right, Sera: something is better than nothing, and we must do what we can.” She pauses, like she’s mulling it over in her own head, trying to validate herself or something, like doing the right thing needs all its frigging Ts crossed. “And who knows? Perhaps we’ll find some new agents…”

Sera doesn’t need to turn around to know that she’s smiling. So frigging proud of herself, like that’s what this is about. Lashes out, she does, a quick snap with bare knuckles against the crumbling stone. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, though she kind of wishes it would.

“Right,” she snaps. “Because that’s what this is about. More pissheads for the bloody Inquisition.”

“You say it as though it’s such a terrible thing,” Leliana says, and Sera can hear from the frown in her voice. “But is it, truly? It benefits the Inquisition, of course, but must it be so horrible simply by association? Of all people, Sera, I would have expected you to recognise the benefit of such a thing for all concerned. Yes, the Inquisition bolsters its numbers, but what of the people we take in? Is it so unforgivable to offer them a chance to take their fates into their own hands, for perhaps the first time in their lives?”

Sera sighs. Can’t argue with that. Ten years ago, even five, she would’ve slit a noble’s throat for a chance half as good as that. “Guess not,” she mutters. “Maybe.”

Leliana closes the space between them in a single smooth step; she’s sneaky about it this time, completely soundless, and the only way Sera knows that she moved at all is because the next time she speaks it’s with warm breath ghosting against the side of her head.

“I shall take that as a victory,” she says, lips curved into a smile against Sera’s skin. “From my experience, ‘maybe’ comes as hard to you as ‘yes, sir’ comes to Lord Pavus.”

Sera takes a deep breath, turns away from the wall. Leliana’s real close now, and it’s easy enough for Sera to make it look like an accident when she buries her face in that stupid heavy hood, breathing in the leather and chainmail, hiding her features, the pain twisting her lips, the angry flush, the salty stain of decades-old tears.

“Hate this,” she whispers. “Hate it so frigging much. Hate it.”

She doesn’t say _hate myself_ too, but she knows Leliana can hear it.

She holds her close, weighted armour pressing painfully against Sera’s skinny frame. “I know you do. And I wish that I could be more sympathetic, more compassionate. I wish that I could feel the things you do, Sera, but I…” She sighs again, and this time it vibrates through both their bodies. “You understand as well, I know, but I feel it bears repeating for both our sakes.”

“Sure,” Sera mutters, almost to herself. “Why not, yeah?”

Leliana chuckles, breathy and brief. “My position necessitates a degree of pragmatism, of ruthlessness. You might call it ‘heartless’, and in truth you wouldn’t be so far off.” She pulls back a little, lets Sera press her face to her shoulder inatead. “It is sad… and, yes, perhaps a little cruel.. but what else can I do? When one’s world is carved from secrets and populated by spies, even the smallest measure of sympathy would cost more lives than it would save.”

Sounds cold, yeah, but Sera supposes she has a point. Practicality and passion don’t play well with each other; Sera has way too much of the latter to ever make a good spy, and maybe the opposite is true for Leliana. So much practically, so much precision, and all it would take is a touch of passion to blow it all to Maker-knows-where. Honestly, there are days when Sera wishes she could be more like that, more like the calloused picture Leliana paints of herself. Days like today, for example. But then, she knows it’s not so stark as either of them want to believe.

Thing is, since they started out on this stupid trip, she’s seen nearly as much of Leliana as Leliana has seen of her. She’s seen the cracks in that stupid chainmail, the places where the leather is soft and worn; she’s seen parts of her that soften when they lock eyes, the corners where the callouses don’t reach. She’s seen the sorrow shake through every part of her when she looks to the sky, the stars, when she touches the memories still held by her precious Hero. She’s seen the parts of Leliana that used to be like her, like stupid little Sera all blown up on passion, and she’s seen the closed-off places that maybe wish they could still be that way.

She’s practical as anything, yeah, and precise and all that shite, but Sera’s seen the passion flow through her too, knows that it’s still there. Carefully hidden, tucked away under all those layers of chainmail and leather, all those secrets and birds and all the other shite she carries around with her. It’s there, though; hidden, but there. Sera knows it is, knows it because she’s touched it.

“Ugh.” Not much of an assessment, that, but it’s about as much as she can manage right now. “Shitty, innit? Being us.”

Leliana doesn’t laugh this time, and when she speaks she sounds deathly serious. “I wouldn’t say so, no. I think we complement each other quite well.”

Sera snorts. Nice to think of it that way, even if she can’t bring herself to agree. “Big frigging optimist, you,” she says, and pulls away from the wall.

Wobbles a bit, but she can hold herself up well enough. But then, it wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t, would it? Leliana is standing right there, and Sera trusts that she’d catch her. _Trusts her_ , yeah, and isn’t that just the scariest thought in the whole frigging world?

“Well,” Leliana’s saying, “I suppose one of us must be, yes?”

“Right. Better you than me, innit?” Stings a little more than she expects, putting it that way, and she shakes her head to dislodge the feeling. “But, uh… thanks, yeah? For the helping shit. Agents and whatever. Appreciate it.” She narrows her eyes, though, because she still can’t allow herself to trust too much. “I mean, you know, if you’re good as your word…”

“Of course I am,” Leliana says, with mischief in her eyes. “A Bard’s word is her life, you know.”

“Better be,” Sera mutters. “I know the Game you people play.”

Leliana acknowledges the veiled insult with a shrug; years behind her, that life, and she won’t be offended by a slash at it now. “You’d play a pretty Game yourself, given a chance,” she says instead. There’s real proper intimacy in the way she leans in, pushes the hair back from Sera’s face, studies her like something valuable. “A little training, a little lace… you could move nations with your tongue, yes?”

The idea makes Sera more than a little uncomfortable, but she refuses to let it show. Falls back on her fail-safes, smugness and innuendo, and she barks a dirty laugh.

“Like I can’t do that already,” she says, and if Leliana notices that her smirk is a little too forced, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, hey… you’re the one who wanted to ‘save yourself for Skyhold’ or whatever, so I guess you wouldn’t know.” Licks her lips, real slow. “Your loss, yeah?”

Leliana laughs. Not like Sera, all smirky and shit, but really properly _laughs_ , like belly-laughs with all of her, wild and vibrant, like that shite is the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her whole frigging life. Sera wonders how long it’s been since she last let herself do that, lose control in something fun.

Kisses her softly when she’s done, when the laughter dries up and only the Nightingale is left.

“You’re a delight,” she says. “Truly, a delight.”

Sera doesn’t feel like one, especially not right now, but she can’t let Leliana see that.

“You gonna show me this thing you stole?” she asks instead. Easier to switch to something simple, even something like this, than stay mired in a subject that makes her squirm. “All that frigging trouble, it better not be all Inquisition-classified or whatever.”

“You’re part of the Inquisition,” Leliana reminds her gently. “Even if it were classified, you’d be given access, no?”

“Shut it,” Sera snaps. She doesn’t like the reminder, the gnawing in her stomach when she stops and thinks about what it means to be a part of something like that. Definitely doesn’t like the reminder of all the ways she’s abused a position that could’ve done so much good. “Better be worth it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well,” Leliana says, and her face twitches into something secret. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me.”

“Wha…”

But the rest of it dies before she can get it out. The grinding in her gut gets a whole lot worse, like a warning or something, body tightening everywhere like it’s bracing for something, like it knows what’s coming before she does. She stumbles, back pressed against the wall, fingers fumbling uselessly at the stone. Doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so scared, so worried, but her instincts are screaming at her to run away again, to seek out the safe shadows and hide, hide, _hide_.

Stupid, obviously, because she has no idea what’s really going on, but the way Leliana’s looking at her, all anticipation and hope, makes the air turn thick in her lungs, burning with something like panic.

Leliana has no shortage of pockets and pouches in that stupid armour of hers, but she’s all deliberate and methodical in the way she reaches in. Slow, pointed, like she’s dragging this out on purpose. Leather on leather on chainmail, scraping and scratching, and the noise is damn near deafening in Sera’s ears. It cuts off her breathing, makes the whole world shrink down to a pinprick, and for a second or two she has no idea why, no idea what she’s feeling, where it’s coming from…

…but then Leliana’s handing it over, the special secret Spymaster trinket they’ve come all this way for, the unique little thing that’s not worth anything to anyone. It’s tiny, halfway hidden in her hand, lost in the leather, but Sera doesn’t need to see it to recognise the shape, to feel the pull of it. Memory, sharp and powerful, tugging at the edge of her mind. Stupid and silly and small; worthless, yeah, but once upon a time it was so frigging important; once upon a time it _mattered_ , and it made her feel like she mattered too.

She’s already crying before she even fully sees the stupid thing in full, before she feels the familiar edges cutting into her palms, as sharp now as they were all those years ago, sharp like the twist in her stomach, the kick in her chest. Sharp edges, sharp corners, sharp everything. Sharp, yeah, but it fits into her hands like it did back then, like that’s what it was made for. It’s just like she remembers, every detail, sharp but so small.

Smaller now than it was back then, too. Her hands are bigger, and so is the rest of her; it’s hard to see all the little details with the tears blurring her eyes, hard to see exactly but she remembers and that fills in the details. The paint, the colours, and she remembers how they drew her in, made her calm, helped her to imagine things she’d never seen. So many colours, bright and blazing and beautiful and everything that’s not _here_ , not _this,_ not bloody _Denerim_. It’s all faded now, of course, cracked and chipped and worn down, and what use is a shitty little thing like that?

Silly. Leliana was right about that, right that it’s nothing, right that it’s worthless and stupid, right that no-one in their right mind would ever want it. But she does. Maker, she does.

Nothing, yeah? Stupid, silly, _nothing_. Just a silly little box, beaten and broken and worthless, just a small painted box…

…but when Sera looks at it, she sees the whole frigging world.

*


	7. Chapter 7

*

“How did you…”

It’s hard to talk over the lump in her throat, and harder still to make any kind of sense through the crying. Hard to do pretty much anything, to be honest, but maybe that’s for the best because Sera has no frigging idea what she’s trying to ask anyway. _How did you find it? How did you frigging know? How did you convince the Inquisitor to let you ride halfway across bloody Thedas for something as daft as this?_ So many questions, yeah, all as important as each other, but she’s not entirely sure she’s ready to hear the answers.

Leliana, in her usual style, doesn’t interrupt. She just stands there, a little too close, watching Sera floundering without saying a bloody word. Embarrassing as anything, the way she stares, like Sera’s some kind of curiosity at an Orlesian gallery. She doesn’t want to know what her face must look like to someone as perfect as Leliana; she’s all tear-stained and scrunched up, awful feelings on display, and she can only imagine how exposed she is. All the memories, the flashes of beauty in a horrible place, a horrible childhood, the fresh paint shimmering, so pretty even in the darkness and the dirt. Wasn’t nothing, really, but it filled the bad places inside her with so many wonderful things.

A lifetime ago, or seems that way. Ten years, not so long in the great scheme of time or whatever, but right now it feels like frigging forever.

“How…” Can’t even get past the first word this time, though, and she throws up her hands in defeat.

Leliana, of course, takes that as an invitation to break her silence. “Is that the important question?” she asks, all matter-of-fact and shit, like they’re talking about the frigging weather. “Wouldn’t you sooner know _why_?”

Maybe. Some little piece of her does, at least. Most of her, though? Most of her is frigging terrified. It’s one thing to focus on the easy shite, how and when and crap like that, all technical and sticking to the facts, but _why_? That’s a whole different set of issues. _Why_ makes it personal. It means looking deeper, digging under the surface, getting right down beneath the chipped paint and the sharp corners, shaking the silly little box like she did a thousand times when she was little, shaking it and turning it upside-down and waiting with bated breath to see what fell out, whether it would be secrets or just spiders.

She’s scared now, in a way she wasn’t then. Little Sera wasn’t scared of either, but Supposedly-Adult Sera would fight her way through a thousand spiders before she’d unearth those kinds of secrets.

She turns the little box over in her hands. Over and over and over, more times than she can count. Silly, yeah, but it makes her feel safer, strong enough to get out more than one lousy word.

“Stupid,” she manages at last. It tastes unpleasant on her tongue, like a lie, but spitting it like an accusation makes it all a little easier; safer to shape words into sentences than ask them like questions. Makes her feel a little more in control, and a little less small. “Frigging stupid, innit? Worthless, just like you said it was. You dragged us all that way for this? Got to be that you’re stupid too.”

Clings to the words, holds them as close as the box, pretends that they’re the only answer she’ll ever need. _Why? Because you’re stupid_. That way it’s not about her, that way it doesn’t hurt so much.

Leliana tosses her head, careless and cool. “Perhaps I am, yes.”

That throws her a bit, how readily she admits to it. Doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Nothing to smirk about, that,” she snaps.

“Why not?” Sounds almost like a serious question, that, and it makes Sera itchy. “There is nothing shameful in it. I’ve never understood the way you say that word, as though you cannot think of a worse insult. _Stupid_ , as though admitting one’s own shortcomings is such an unforgivable sin. It is nonsense, Sera; of all the terrible things a person can be, stupidity is certainly not one.”

“Says you.”

“Indeed. And who better to grasp the scope of what is terrible and what is not? I have been a great many things, as you know, and all of them far worse than that. A lack of intelligence is not harmful to anyone. But a lack of morality? A lack of compassion?” She sighs, heavy and sad, turning inwards for a moment. “If you ask me, the world could use a little more stupidity, and a little less cleverness as well.”

So regretful, the way she says it. Sera’s never thought about it that way. As long as she can remember, _stupid_ has always meant _bad_. Like ‘knife-ear’ from humans or ‘flat-ear’ from other frigging elves, it’s always been a coded way of saying _‘you’re not good enough’_ , and it stung twice as deep because for her it’s true. Not so much for Leliana; there’s not a soul in frigging Thedas who’d ever believe that she’s genuinely stupid. No threat from a blunt blade, right? No hurt from an insult that you know is bullshit. But for Sera, yeah, it cuts because it hits on something true, something real.

“Forget it,” she says, teeth sharp against the inside of her cheek. “Just…”

She sniffles. It’s real close to a whimper, and she hates how small it makes her sound. Small like the box in her hands, shaky like the way it rattles, and there’s that question again, tugging at her, turning her inside-out, not _why_ but _how_. How did she know? How could anyone know?

Sera learned real early the importance of keeping the important things close, holding on tight and never letting go. It’s the survival thing, primitive and base and really simple; when you’re on the streets, living rough, everyone’s out for themselves. You have to be, yeah? No-one else will feed you if you don’t feed yourself, so you have to take it all into your own hands. There’s plenty of people in that world desperate enough to steal a toy from a kid if they think they can sell it for a fistful of sovereigns or a hot meal. And Sera… well, she was a kid who got real good at hiding her toys.

Would’ve fought someone ten times her size for that box if she’d needed to, but keeping it safe and squirrelled away was easier and safer. Never whispered a word, not to anyone, but here it is a decade later, right in front of her, and all those years are gone in a heartbeat. _Gone_ , just like her breath when she looks at Leliana, when Leliana looks back and smiles. Gone, and there’s that question again, over and over again in her head. _How_?

“Sera—”

“Shouldn’t matter,” she says, a quick-sharp interruption because she can’t bear any more words from Leliana right now. “Shouldn’t matter, right? How or why or whatever. Shouldn’t…”

She turns it over in her hands, watches the colours flash like they used to. Paler now, less dazzling, but it takes her back, makes her remember. Scared, shivering, starving, small and stupid; Denerim was the whole frigging world back then, everything, but she looked down at the flurry of colours, of possibilities and she could almost see places that were different. Bright, breathtaking, places where no-one was scared and the cold wouldn’t get in through the holes in her clothes. Stupid, yeah, because she didn’t realise that those places don’t exist, couldn’t possibly have known that even beautiful Val Royeaux has its share of colourless corners.

Learned a lot of lessons, she has, since she left this place behind, since she put down the box and picked up a bow. A lot of lessons she sometimes wishes she never did, but looking down at it now, she almost forgets them all. Almost, but not quite, and she knows she shouldn’t want to go back, knows there’s nothing but hurt and hate in a world as small as a city, but _oh_ , to be so stupid, to be so simple, to look down at a small painted box and _imagine_ …

She’s crying again before she even realises it, huge heaving sobs that rattle in her chest and big round tears that splash the paint and soften the edges of the silly little box. Doesn’t even know why, not really, but it’s so hard to reconcile the places inside of her that are still scarred and scabbed over from that chapter of her life, the places that can’t breathe some days, the times when she wakes sweating in the middle of the night thinking that she’s still there, that she never got out… so hard to reconcile those parts, the parts that still bleed, with the parts that wish they could still be so frigging innocent.

Hurts, getting older. Hurts, learning lessons. Hurts so much, realising that she was so caught up with remembering what it was like to wish things might get better that she missed the moment they did. _Hurts_ , and she looks down at that small painted box and wonders what Little Sera would think of the thing she grew up to become.

“Shouldn’t matter,” she says again, but she’s not talking about the question this time. She’s so angry, and it hurts so much to see her own face reflected in the paint, the worn-down surfaces, hurts so much that she doesn’t recognise it any more. “None of this shite should matter. Shouldn’t _care_ , should I? Just a stupid box. Stupid and old and… and I’m supposed to be that too, yeah? Old. Too old for crap like this, anyway. Too old to…” Shakes her head, forces down another wave of tears. “Stupid.”

Leliana spreads her arms. “There’s nothing stu… _foolish_ … in revisiting sweet moments from the past. And all the more so with a past as painful as yours. We take what brief flickers of joy we can, yes? And who can blame you for relishing them? A splash of colour in a lightless world, a moment’s laughter on a tragic day… these are precious things, yes?”

Sera shakes her head. “It’s just a box. A worthless piece of shit. It’s _stupid_.”

Tries so hard to believe that, she does. Wraps the word around herself, _stupid_ , like that’s ever been enough to make her hate something. Raises the box up high, fingers trembling, half-numb. Wants so desperately to throw the damn thing away chuck it into the nearest alley, back into the dark corners and the shadows, the horrible places where it came from. Wants to, so frigging badly, but the parts that can’t bear to let it go are bigger and stronger than the parts that try to lash out.

Screams when she can’t do it. Hunches over the stupid thing, howling, and hates the way she hugs it close, protective, corners digging into her chest. Hugs it like some little kid might hug some beat-up old stuffed animal, or maybe like they’d hug their mother. Not like Leliana hugs her, like she’s precious and fragile or whatever, but like Sera hugs herself, fierce and tight and violent. _Stupid_ , she thinks, and whispers it again when the screams die down. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Leliana watches, doesn’t intervene. “That word again,” she sighs. “And to what end?”

“Piss on your _end_ ,” Sera mutters.

Leliana’s lips twitch, like she wants to make an off-colour remark at Sera’s choice of words, but she schools her expression before it can shift. Probably knows what’ll happen if she tries that shit now, knows that Sera wouldn’t hesitate to put her fist through that frigging chainmail at just the slightest provocation. She’s too worked up for games like that, and way too frigging vulnerable.

“In any event,” Leliana says after a moment, changing the subject with her usual flair. “Foolish or otherwise, the box is yours to do with as you like. If you don’t wish to keep it, you certainly don’t have to.”

Sera sneers. “What, really? All the way here, all this frigging crap you’ve put us through for some shitty whatever, and you’d just let me throw it in the rubbish? Great big waste of time if I do, innit?”

“Well, now, I wouldn’t say that.” She’s still smiling, but it’s a little less smug and a little more forced, like she’s trying a bit too hard to convince them both. “Why, the shoes alone make the whole journey worthwhile. And, oh, the hats…” She shakes her head, lets out an exaggeratedly wistful sigh. “You know, I’d forgotten just how much I miss Ferelden fashions.”

She’s trying to make this easier, Sera can tell. Trying to make like it’s okay if she does just chuck the box away, if she does make this whole thing a waste of time and heartache for both of them. Trying real hard, yeah, and maybe it would work on someone less stubborn, someone more receptive to good intentions, but Sera is too defensive and too frigging self-sabotaging to ever accept that sort of kindness.

“You hate Ferelden fashions,” she huffs, cradling the box to her chest with renewed fervour. “Hear you say it to Milady Josie all the time. All posh and prissy and shit, all the frigging time. ‘ _Oh, those Ferelden fashions! How do they survive with less than four hundred frills?’_ Shite like that.”

Leliana chuckles. “Observant. Perhaps a little too clever for your own good, hm?”

Deliberate choice of words, that. _Clever_ , like not stupid. Yeah, right. Like Sera could ever be that. Already had this conversation, haven’t they? And of course Leliana knows exactly how to push her buttons, how to pick exactly the wrong word at exactly the right moment to leave her stripped down and open. Wants to scream again, but she can’t bear the thought of Leliana telling her it’s okay if she does. So accepting, so soft in all the places Sera wants hardness and hate, and it takes the fight right out of her, leaves her reeling and weak.

She gives up. Stops fighting, stops arguing, and doesn’t even touch the clever-stupid thing. Just shakes her head and lets her legs go out from under her. Slides down the wall, back scraping against the stone, and sits there on the damp dirty ground. Keeps the box close, turns it over and over in her hands. Fast, slow, fast again, over and over until it’s easier to breathe, until it doesn’t hurt so much to look at the damn thing and see her younger face. Over and over and over, until the senseless repetition is all she can think about, until she’s as close to calm as she could ever hope to be.

Leliana gives her a moment or two, waits until she relaxes a bit, then sits down beside her. Doesn’t ask permission of course, just slips in real close like she belongs there, and though Sera flinches at the intrusion there’s not enough left in her to even try and shove her away.

She wants to, kind of. Wants to fight back against the tenderness, the contact, hips and legs and arms all pressed together in ways that make her thoughts white out. Wants to resist her own instincts, stop her head from dropping down, but she’s leaning in before she has a chance to reconcile what she wants with what she’s actually doing. Leliana’s shoulder is hard, rough leather and chainmail, but Sera’s cheek nestles into the crook of her neck so easily, so comfy, like they’ve been doing shit like this their whole lives.

The chainmail ridges rub against her skin; it stings and buzzes like bees underneath, too much sensation too much like sentiment, and she wants to end it, stop it, make it go away, but the warmth takes her in and holds her in place like a mother’s arms. Leliana’s nothing like a mother, yeah, and further away from one with every time they kiss, but the warmth when they touch makes Sera feel so much like she has one, and the way she looks at her makes her brain go fuzzy.

It’s like she really does believe she shite she spouts, all that crap about Sera being too clever for her own good, like she really does think Sera could be that way, could be something that’s not stupid. Makes her feel drunk, silly but a little less stupid than usual. _Intoxicating_ , kind of, like what Leliana called her back in the alley, the way she said that word and Sera didn’t understand exactly but still somehow knew what she was trying to say with it, what it was supposed to mean. _Like drunk_ , yeah. Exactly like what she’s feeling now, and maybe there really is something sort-of clever in her after all, because who else can piece together what shit means when they don’t understand the words?

“Oh, Sera.” Leliana’s voice is like music, like a real proper bard, the kind that sings and lets that be enough. “What are we to do with you?”

She looks so _fond_ , like this might actually mean something, the two of them together like this, like they might be more than just flashes of of memory hiding in different-shaped shadows. Touches her, deeper than Sera can stand when she’s feeling like this, and she reacts like she usually does when she’s feeling cornered: by blurting out the first stupid thing that comes into her head.

“Less of this _we_ shite, yeah?” A little too loud, a little too suggestive, but she doesn’t care. Anything to turn them away from this place. “But _you_ can do whatever you like.”

Leliana makes a small sound, a snorting sort of half-laugh, and leans in like she’s going to kiss her. It’s only a second or two, though, a ghost of a moment before she catches herself. Stops cold, maybe realising that it won’t do either of them any good, that yesterday’s fumbling won’t work here. Whatever good it did last time, they can’t replace all their broken memories that easily, and even if they could they shouldn’t. Sighs, low and sad and shit, and settles instead for brushing Sera’s hair behind her ears.

“It’s a gift,” she says, letting her other hand rest over Sera’s, over the stupid box. “Nothing more, nothing less. Just a gift. Why not simply accept it as one?”

Sera sighs, turns her face so she can breathe in Leliana’s armour-bird scent again, cold nose against Leliana’s warm neck. She’s not sure when it became comforting, this weird habit of taking in the smell of leathers and feathers and whatever, when it started helping her, but it does. Helps her to stay focused, stay calm, helps to keep her hands steady as she turns the box over, helps her to breathe through the noise in her head, memories and feelings and so much bad and good and bad and good. Helps her to do a lot of things, and it’s a whole lot easier to find her voice when she’s breathing in.

Sits up when she feels strong enough, straightens so that her words won’t slur, and looks Leliana in the eye. “You say it like it’s easy,” she says. “Just accept something and move on, like there’s no strings attached, like you people don’t expect nothing in return, like that would ever happen. A gift, yeah? So frigging simple, yeah? Except, _no_. It’s not. Can’t be. Nothing’s that simple, yeah? Don’t get nothing for nothing. _Nothing_ …”

She trails off, turns her face away. She’s blushing, and she doesn’t even know why. Bites her lip just to give her teeth something to do, lets the edge of the box dig into her palm to keep them from shaking too hard.

Because, yeah, this isn’t just about accepting some stupid gift, is it? Can’t be. Wouldn’t be. Leliana never does nothing simple, and she sure as shit wouldn’t come all this way with Sera in tow just to offer some battered old revenant of her childhood. No chance. Not even Sera is stupid enough to believe that she’d be so frivolous. So, yeah, not about that, not about accepting a gift or any of that bullshit.

No. Fuck, no. This is about accepting _everything_. The gift, the Inquisition, frigging Skyhold. It’s about all the shit she supposedly signed up for when she signed on with the Inquisition, everything she’s tried so hard to resist ever since Leliana started calling it a ‘home’. It’s about trying not to steal any more, trying not to be selfish, about taking soft smiles and sad eyes as enough of a promise that she really is safe there, that it won’t get bad again if she screws up, that she doesn’t need to spend every frigging minute waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Leliana touches the box. Traces the edges and the corners with one finger, palm still flat across the back of Sera’s hand. Her glove is huge, makes her finger seem much bigger than it is, like she’s smothering the box, smothering Sera, possessing and protecting and promising all those things that are so much more than some simple gift.

“It’s simple if you let it be,” she says. “A gift. Perhaps a gesture of faith. A hand, extended, and it is up to you whether you wish to accept it or not.”

_Stupid metaphors,_ Sera thinks, and grits her teeth. “Can’t you talk straight for once?”

“As you wish.”

Said that a lot since they got here, _all right_ or _very well_ or _as you wish_ , a hundred different ways of saying _sure, okay_ ; Sera wonders how long it’s been since she had to say it this many times, how long since she spent any amount of time with someone as wilful and angry as Sera, someone who needs so many bloody compromises, who needs someone like Leliana to stoop down to her level as often as she does.

“Just like that, yeah?” she huffs, because she can’t stop herself. “All _‘very well, Sera’_ , _‘as you wish, Sera’_ , all that shite?”

“Why not?” Leliana asks. “It does me no harm to rephrase myself, after all.” She shrugs off the point, like it doesn’t make Sera feel like the biggest bloody idiot in Thedas. “In any case. To put it straight, as you ask: we have tried to communicate our points of view through words, but you do not listen. Myself, Josephine, Cassandra… perhaps half the Inquisition, all told, but you are stubborn and wilful and… and, as you say yourself, we have none of us been particularly accommodating to your side of the story. It is a poor match, yes?”

Sera snorts. “One way of putting it, yeah.”

“Indeed.” She smiles, just briefly. “So, then. Josephine and I thought… _hoped_ … that actions might speak volumes where our words have failed. Perhaps we also hoped that exposure to your past here might help you to embrace your present elsewhere, but that is an aside. Simply put, we wanted to reach out to you, to make a gesture that you could not possibly ignore, and we hoped that it would make you more receptive to our point of view. You are so defensive, Sera. You respond to the simplest things as though you were under attack…”

“Bloody right.”

Leliana rolls her eyes. “Yes. Understandable, given your upbringing. Which I now know because of our time here. A mutually beneficial excursion, you see.”

“If you say so.” Doesn’t really buy it, though, and she sighs. “So all this shit was just, what? To get to know me better? To make me pay attention to you?”

Leliana sighs too, but where Sera’s is a childish little huff, hers is a proper adult’s sigh, all resignation and weariness and just a hint of frustration. It’s a pointed reminder of the years spread out between them; Sera often forgets how much older Leliana is, how much more she’s been through, but it’s hard to forget it now when she feels so little and Leliana looks so tired. She hides it well under that hood, sure, but it’s there, the memories that have made her, just as sure as Sera’s still spin in her head. Broken things have a way of finding each other, and Leliana finds Sera’s broken parts as easily as her own. All too easy to forget sometimes that Leliana’s been running with dangerous people for probably longer than Sera’s been alive.

“To get you to _hear_ us,” she corrects after a moment. “We wanted you to see the lengths to which we would go for you, wanted you to see beyond all doubt that we do, in fact, care. We wanted to make it irrefutable, so that even you could not possibly shy away from it.” She sighs again, so heavy that Sera almost wants to reach inside her and strip away some of the weight. “We have faith in you, Sera. We would have given up on even trying to reach you long ago if we did not. That, at least, you must concede, yes?”

Sera bites her lip, tries not to look as young as she feels. “Guess so.”

“Yes. But it is futile to have faith in someone who will not believe in themselves. You see?” She gestures, arms spread wide to take in the space around them. Not the box, but the alley, the dirty ground and the crumbling wall, all the shit that Sera crawled out of. “We hoped that it might help you to see, to understand that it is not simply words. That we would go out of this way for a gift of this nature—”

“Bullshit,” Sera interrupts. Comes out sharper than she means it to, but she doesn’t take it back and she doesn’t apologise. “Say it like it is. You just wanted me to remember where I came from. This—” She waves the box around, still itching to throw it away. “This _gift_ is just… just makes it more real, yeah?”

Leliana tilts her head, acknowledging the point without admitting it. “Why can’t it be both?” she asks. “It is a gift, truly. No expectations, no intentions beyond making you see that we care about you, that we are willing to go to great lengths simply to make a kind gesture. That is all. But yes, perhaps we had the reminder in mind as well. A side-effect, perhaps, but we hoped a beneficial one. It is useful to remember what we once were, Sera, and how far we’ve come since. As I said, you are so often so defensive, and you resist with violence when people reach out to you. But here…”

Sera closes her eyes. “Don’t.”

Because, yeah, she knows. Knows exactly what she is _here_ , what this place makes her. Been living it every second since they got back here, hasn’t she? Just like Leliana’s been living her own loss, that’s Sera too, cowering in the alleys, the broken frightened little thing she used to be locked up tight in the body of someone who should be old enough to know better. So many conflicting messages from different parts of her, and is it any wonder that Sister Nightingale can finally break through to her here, where she’s so messed up she can’t frigging see straight?

She’s not like these people, not any more. In her bones, she knows that, and the way she feels so small is just painful proof of the fact; she doesn’t fit any more into the little corners she used to hide in, and her body isn’t built for the things she used to do. And, yeah, it’s hard to face that. Just as hard, in its own way, as it was to face the selfish stupid shit she’s done since she left.

For so long she’s been living like she used to, believing that a part of her was still stuck here, and now all of a sudden the truth of it is right in front of her, blinding and horrible. It’s so hard to see the space between what she is and what she was, so hard to reconcile Little Sera with Supposedly Grown-Up Sera when they both play with the same painted boxes, when she still feels everything this place made her feel back then. The pains in her chest and cramping in her belly, terror and hunger in equal measure, and it’s right there under her skin, in her nerves, in the way she can’t stop turning that stupid box over and over in her hands. She’s been doing shit like this for so long, _living_ like this for so long, like it’s the only way, and it’s only now that she looks up and realises everything has changed.

She won’t starve in Skyhold. She knows that; deep down inside, she’s always known it, but knowing isn’t the same as believing, and it’s always been so hard to believe when she’s so sure she can read the writing on the wall. It’s a blow, coming back here. Violent, but inescapable. It’s exactly what Leliana said it was: a reminder, yeah, but of what she _was_ not what she _is_.

Got no choice now. Has to see it. For the first time in her life, she can’t run away from this, can’t pretend not to see, can’t curl up in a dark corner and wait for the truth to go away. Has to stand up, has to face it. It’s a blow, powerful and potent, and she has no choice but to swallow the shit Leliana’s been selling. No choice, because the alternative is going back to what she was, what she has been for way too long, stealing and eating and hiding and _wasting_. Can’t keep doing that. Can’t keep taking everything for herself. And maybe that’s another thing that silly painted box is good for: it reminds of where she came from, sure, but it also reminds her of what she’s _not_.

There’s probably another ragged little girl out there somewhere, cowering in another dark corner and playing with another small painted box. Maybe a dozen, maybe even more, and what are the chances that they’ll come back here ten years from now and see how far they’ve come? Ten years from now, it’ll be a frigging miracle if any of them are even still alive.

Sera is. Got lucky, she did. Got a chance, got out, got good. And now she’s got a reminder of all those things; it fits in her hands just as well as it did back then, even if the things she sees in its surface are a little different. Time casts long shadows, she supposes, and even the brightest colours can fade. A little girl, the first time she saw this thing, young enough to imagine a future as beautiful as those swirling paint-patterns; now she’s living that future, but when she studies those same swirling patterns all she can see is the past she couldn’t let go.

So, yeah. A gift, sure. But it’s a lesson too, and Sera hates learning.

*

They don’t talk much more.

Leliana’s made her point well enough, and Sera’s too busy licking her wounds to even think of opening up new ones. A little angry, a little vulnerable; she hates it when other people make a point. Hates it even more when she has no choice but to pay attention, acknowledge that maybe they were right all along. Leliana, Milady Josie, everyone who tried to make her see the difference between the life she’s living and the one she still sees when she looks in the mirror. Hates that it’s down to her to see it for herself now, that she has to change, that she can’t expect them to see her as the thing she was before they ever met her.

Hates, most of all, that she actually cares if she lets them down.

Scary as anything, that. Never happened before, not even with Friends; anonymity makes things safer, makes them less personal. Kind of like Leliana and her spies in that way, she supposes. Easy to keep your distance from the people you work with when you don’t know what their faces look like; not so easy when you’re back-to-back with them every day, clawing through demons and god-magisters and whatever else. Hard not to get personal with that, yeah, and more so because she’s supposed to frigging hate these people. They’re all big-hats, the lot of them, heads jammed so far up their own arses they could probably count their ribs or something. Eyes always on that great big scar where the sky got ripped apart, they don’t care about the ones that matter, the little people who bloody need them. Sera hates that way of thinking, hates the blindness of it, and until just now she thought that meant she hated them too. Couldn’t understand how anyone could be so blind, so selfish…

Couldn’t, until she realised that she’s one of them too, until she took a great big Denerim-sized step backwards and saw that she’s exactly the bloody same. Worse, even.

Easy to point fingers, innit? Easy to look at the big-hat Inquisition types and call them names, shake her head and sneer and call them out on their selfish stupidity. Arses, pissheads jackboots, fancy-pants rich tits who don’t see what’s important. Easy when she’s the injured party, the one that nobody understands, the one who knows what it’s like on the other side of all those frills and feathers. Not so easy to take the same blows when she looks back and sees that she’s fallen further than they ever did. Born that way, they were, but she was born _here_ , and all that fancy-pants Inquisition shite seems a whole lot heavier when it’s tied around her own neck.

Doesn’t help either that she’s got Leliana now. And, well, okay, so maybe she doesn’t _have_ her, not like _that_ , not like she ever could, but it’s more than she had before, and it’s so frigging hard to stay separate from all this when her head is spinning with stuff that means shit. Stuff that means more than _fancy-pants_ or _rich tit_ or _jackboot_ , anyway, stuff that changes the way she’s always looked at people. Leliana, and she’s just one of them, one of those fancy-pants Inquisition types she’s supposed to hate, but she makes Sera go weak in places that she’d been counting on to stay strong. She makes her think about things, want things, makes her _care_ about things… and, Maker protect her, she makes her want to believe it when she says that they care too.

The way she looks at her. The way they kiss, the taste of her tongue and the press of her lips. The way her face softens, the sad-sweet look in her eyes when Sera gets difficult. The way she uses big words to talk about stupid little Sera, words that don’t fit on her tongue, _clever_ and _intoxicating_ and _endearing_. All that stuff, yeah, and it shouldn’t mean piss next to the rest, the hungry desperate people they left behind in that awful place, the countless ways they should be helping instead of talking, all the ways that being back in Denerim brings out new-old pain in them both. Shouldn’t mean piss, those silly little things, touches and smiles and looks and words, not next to the shit that really hurts, but they do. Andraste, they do.

Hates that as well. Because somehow, somewhere, she lost all the stuff she thought was important, the stealing and eating and hiding, the parts of her that scream _survive_. Lost all that, and suddenly there’s nothing left in her but _this_. Terrifying, more than she can say, that she’s suddenly less afraid of getting chucked out onto the streets than she is of seeing Leliana’s smile fade.

Got real messy, this did, and real fast. She doesn’t know how to handle it, and it scares her half to death to look at Leliana and see in her face that it doesn’t matter, that it’s _okay_.

Sera likes things simple. Always has. Simple, like boiling down everything she is to the things she does, to stealing and eating and hiding, to losing herself in the mundanity of survival, to waiting for the moment when she has to put those skills to use again. That’s simple, that’s straightforward, that’s the kind of shite that even a ragged little girl can pull off.

But this… this is the opposite of that, the opposite of simple. It’s not about _doing_ any more, it’s about _feeling_. Maybe about believing, too; not the whole Andraste-Maker-Chant-of-Light thing, obviously, but the kind when Leliana says she cares and Sera doesn’t immediately think it’s lies. Not _faith_ -faith, but… ugh, _trust_. Worse, so much worse.

And, yeah, it’s messy. Messy, and awful, and complicated, and a thousand other things, but it is not frigging _simple_. It’s looking at Leliana and imagining what she must look like through those shadowy Nightingale’s eyes; it’s breathing in the scent of leathers and feathers and secrets, of hearing words like _Skyhold_ and _home_ and not wanting to run away. It’s pressing her back to the wall in a dark run-down alley, Spymaster’s fingers pressed in hidden places, feeling good in a place that once made her feel so bad. It’s the way they curl around each other at night, warm and comfortable, the way Sera can almost, _almost_ close her eyes and imagine she’s safe.

It’s all those big fancy words Leliana uses to describe her, hearing them and wishing she could believe them. It’s looking inside herself, seeing the places that are gnarled and twisted and horrible, the places where she’s selfish and stupid, and wondering if maybe they’re not beyond fixing after all, if maybe it’s worth trying. It’s wondering if maybe it’s finally time to leave this shit behind, to open up to the things Leliana offers, open herself up to being more than she is, to being _something_ instead of _nothing_. It’s wondering who she is, who she might become if she can only find the courage to try.

It’s having the freedom, for the first time in her life, to wonder at all.

*

It’s a long time before she stops playing with that stupid box, stops running it over in her hands, stops _thinking_.

Harder than she wants to admit, stilling her hands, but it’s starting to hurt. Her wrists are sore, fingers starting to get numb, callouses throbbing under her palms, and her head’s aching from all the thinking. She wants to keep going, at least with the box, wants to keep turning it over and over and over until the other part, the thinking, doesn’t hurt so much. Wants to, yeah, but if she keeps going like this she won’t be able to hold the silly thing at all; at least this way, she can still feel the edges against her skin. It’s better than nothing, at least, so she gives up on playing with it and just lets it settle in her hands, weighted and delicate, like it was made to sit there.

Whatever else is going through her head right now, at least the box is simple. That’s one of the reasons why she loved it so much when she was little. Simple things, simple ideas, and that filled up her head for hours. Pretty colours, straight lines, sharp corners; _paint_ , and her child’s mind damn near exploded from all the possibilities. It gave her so much comfort all those years ago, so much _hope_. Dreamed, night after night, of finding a place where those colours might be real, where she might see them cast in something other than paint, where she might feel them as well, sun-warm and rain-wet on her skin; dreamed that the rest of the world might not be as dark as it was in the places she knew. It helped her to forget, when she held it up to the light, just how dark her own colours were.

Funny, that. All those years ago, it helped her to forget, and now it’s helping her to remember.

Funny, yeah, if it didn’t hurt so much.

Leliana doesn’t rush her to stand, doesn’t push them to move on, doesn’t do anything at all. She must be uncomfortable as anything, hunched over her like that, but she doesn’t utter so much as a word of complaint. She’s patient, quiet, everything Sera could hope for, and it stings in a way she can’t quite explain, stings like understanding, like _acceptance_ , and Maker, she is not ready for shit like that.

Anyway, Sera’s not exactly comfortable herself crouched here and curled in on herself, and she’s not nearly as good as Leliana at keeping it hidden. Her limbs are heavy, legs and feet tingly and half-asleep, but it’s a powerful kind of feeling, like a kind of penance, like a punishment for all the awful shit she’s done, all the little ways she should have known better, should have been better.

Still real hard, though. She deserves a whole lot worse than a little pricking in her feet, a whole lot worse than a little physical discomfort. She deserves something real, something she can feel, something that’ll really cost, that’ll take from her the way she’s taken from other people, the way she turned survival into selfishness. Deserves worse, yeah, but more than that, she needs to make it right. Needs to, like she needs to breathe, needs to keep that silly little box in her hands, needs to keep Leliana close. _Needs to_ , yeah, but she doesn’t know how. Hard to let herself think about the big questions, innit? Hard to force herself to face the scary ones. Questions like _’what do I do now?’_ and _’where do we go from here?’_. Big. Difficult. Painful.

Takes a long time to find courage enough to ask them flat-out. She lurches to her feet when the pins-and-needles sting gets too bad, stumbles out into the market. The sun’s high and bright, dazzling after the darkness of the house and the alley; she’s half-blind for a moment or two, vision blurry as she watches the crowds mill around, rich and poor and everyone in between. _People_ , all of them, and how did she never see that before?

Everything feels real sharp now. The world around her, the sunlight in her eyes, the ground under her feet; feels like her nerves are on fire, like they’re lighting up from inside, and everything she sees or hears is a lash against her senses. Sharp, yeah, like the edges of the box in her hands; her palms are wet, slick with sweat, and her grip slips every now and then. Panics, heart in her mouth, every time she almost drops it.

Weird, that. Been without the bloody thing for what feels like forever, and now it’s like she never lost it at all. Weird, and it comforts her more than she’d ever admit, holding it tight, squeezing in rhythm with the seizing of her heart.

Leliana holds her by the other hand, the one not holding the box. For once, she’s content to follow, silent and thoughtful; Sera’s not really paying attention, honestly, but Leliana doesn’t seem to mind. She’s happy, or at least gives the illusion of being happy, to be led around in aimless circles for as long as it takes for Sera to process. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, and she definitely doesn’t tell Sera that she’s being weird for wandering around in a daze; she’s quiet as a bloody ghost, and in a city like Denerim she might as well be one.

She’s waiting for it, though, Sera can tell. The questions, big and scary and important. Waiting, yeah, and Sera can’t help wondering if maybe she’s doing it on purpose, letting her see the patience in her, the silent anticipation, the way she frigging _knows_. She does that sometimes, leaves herself open when she sees that Sera is struggling. Understands, maybe, that feelings are difficult for someone like her, and that she’s not so good at turning them into words. A clever trick, if that’s really what she’s doing, but it works just like it always does, helps the words come a little easier when Sera finally finds the strength to say them.

“What now?”

Blurts it out. Desperate, a little frightened, and that’s not how she meant to sound at all. Meant to make it all quiet and curious, thoughtful like Leliana is. But then, Sera’s never been like Leliana, and she’s still working on the whole ‘thoughtful’ thing. Too close to compassion, that, too close to looking her stupidity in the eye and seeing where she went wrong. One step at a time, yeah? Questions first, thoughtfulness later. Maybe.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter how she sounds, because Leliana’s whole face changes. Real proper soft, sweet like nothing Sera’s ever seen, like she’s so frigging _proud_. Been a long, long time since Sera got that feeling from anyone, and longer still since she got it from someone she actually gave a piss about.

“What do you mean?” Leliana asks, not because she doesn’t understand but because she wants to hear Sera say it.

That helps, too. Getting annoyed is easier than feeling exposed, vulnerable, whatever, and focusing on the flare of aggravation helps her to keep going. “You know what I mean.” 

“Enlighten me?”

“I mean, _what now_? You expect everything to get all peaceful and happy or whatever just because you did a thing and I had some feelings? Like, I seen the error of my ways or whatever, and now I’m just gonna hang it all up? Play nice with Milady Josie and her noble pissbucket allies? Stop doing the stupid shit I’ve been doing all my frigging life? That what I’m supposed to do now? Because I don’t…”

Her voice cracks, shatters, and she stops.

Leliana pretends she doesn’t notice. “Of course not,” she says. “We’re all still learning. All of us, yes? We can only take these things one day at a time.”

Sera stops. Squeezes the box to bolster her courage, and turns to look Leliana right in the eye. “So, what then?” Doesn’t even try to hide the desperation this time; she actually kind of embraces it, kind of wants Leliana to see how much this means to her, see how close she is to pleading. “You gotta… you gotta help me here, yeah? I don’t…” Swallows real hard, chokes on the words, forces them out. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“And what a wonderful start that is, yes?” She’s beaming, brighter than the sun. “To acknowledge your mistakes and want to do better, to want to _improve_ …” Shakes her head just a little, like she’s awed, like Sera is something worthy of awe. “A small step, yes, but a brave one, and we must not undervalue it.”

She sounds so sincere, so frigging passionate, or at least as close to it as Sister Nightingale would ever get in public. Not on the surface, of course; no place that Sera can see, because even she’s not that good at seeing things, but some place underneath, some place where she herself knows.

Because, yeah, it’s not just about Sera, all the stuff that Leliana’s feeling right now. It’s about looking inside and remembering that she can feel things too, that maybe she could benefit from remembering shit as well, that maybe she can look at this ragged little upstart and find something that touches the blocked-off places in her heart her heart, something that reminds her she still has one after all. A heart, and a place in it for feeling.

It touches Sera, too, the sight of it. Helps her to remember that it’s not all about her, that she’s not the only one who took a journey here. Leliana’s been going through shit as well, been studying herself in this city-sized mirror, been staring down her own demons just as surely as Sera has. Helps her to feel less alone, and a bit less selfish too. It’s about _them_ , not just _her_. A greater gift than the box, that, in its own way.

Suddenly, all she wants in the whole frigging world is to throw herself into Leliana’s arms and stay there forever.

Apparently Leliana has the same idea, because she does it first, before Sera has a chance to think twice. Right there in the middle of the street, leans in and wraps her up in a great big hug. She’s not clumsy and gangly like Sera would have been, too many limbs and no idea what to do with them all; she’s graceful and lithe and beautiful, even with all that armour, and the way she holds her is almost enough to make Sera believe that she’ll never let go.

“So, then…” Leliana says, breath sweet against the curve of Sera’s ear, the word whispered like a secret, like a promise, like something so much more intimate than the press of their bodies. “Perhaps you should tell me, yes? One day at a time, of course, but what would you have us do _now_?”

Sera breathes in deep, drinks down the bird-leather smell of her armour. Drinks down Leliana’s faith, the kind that’s faltered and flickered, the kind that left a smiling lay-sister to die on these streets a decade ago, Chantry-faith and Andraste-faith, faith that makes Sera’s lungs hurt. That, yeah, but also the other kind, the kind that doesn’t say _Chantry_ or _Andraste_ or _Maker_ , but other things, _intoxicating_ and _endearing_ , and _we care_. The kind of faith that shines in Leliana’s eyes, soft and sad, when she looks at her, when she looks at stupid small Sera and her stupid small box, the kind that glows when she says those big words, the kind of faith that Sera’s never seen turned towards a person before, the kind that ragged little girl could never imagine might one day be turned on her.

Never seen it before, never imagined she might deserve it, and yet here it is; here she is, here they are… and she’s still not quite there, still can’t quite believe that it’s _hers_ , the faith she finds in Leliana’s arms, but oh, she’s closer than she’s ever been. Close enough that it’s more than just wanting to believe, more than just wishing she could be more. Close enough that she can stand on her toes, press her face against that big purple hood and drink down that faith-smell, leather and birds and secrets, drink it down and breathe it in, and if she swallows hard enough, breathes in deep enough, she can just catch a hint of herself, of her own faith shimmering in return.

So, then. Simple, just like she likes it. _What do we do now?_ A straightforward question, yeah, and when she thinks about it, the answer is as simple as anything.

“Now…” She smiles, lets Leliana feel it against the curve of her neck. “Now, we get out of here.”

Leliana’s lips are warm against her skin, light as feathers and strong as leather. “Back to Skyhold?”

Sera swallows. Squeezes the small painted box, pulls back so she can study the chips and cracks in the paint. Catches her breath, catches her courage, catches hold of everything she wants to be, everything Leliana believes she can be, everything she wants so desperately to believe in herself. Catches it all, and holds it as close as she holds Leliana at night, as close as Leliana holds her during the day, as close as either one of them has ever held anything. Holds it close, nods, and whispers in a voice that shakes with faith.

“Back _home_.”

*


	8. Chapter 8

*

Of course, getting back home means another long journey.

It means days spent riding double on a stupid worn-out horse, and nights spent curled up together, wrapped up in their one little blanket and shivering on their one ratty bedroll. It means all the things that the outbound journey meant, only backwards, and while that should fill Sera with the kind of dread that comes second only to demons, it doesn’t.

In the first, going home means that they’re out of Denerim. It doesn’t put an end to the things she felt there, the hurt and the memories and all the rest, but it does put some distance between her and the place that brings those things to life, gives her some breathing room and something else to focus on. Means a lot, that does, though she tries not to think too hard about the way her hands still shake when her mind wanders back there.

Because, yeah, it’s still there. Further and further away by the second, yeah, but there. Just like the silly small box, lighting up the parts of her that are still young and eager, that can still be fooled into idealism and innocence by a splash of paint on a weather-beaten surface, just like that, Denerim cast its shadows over the parts of her that cut a little too close for comfort. It threw all those memories into sharp relief, all those things she’d kept right at the front of her mind for so long, so afraid of what it might mean to forget them. Taught her a few new things as well, a few things that were pretty well overdue; the faces of those poor bastards in that battered old shithole will be burned onto her mind’s eye for a long time.

Still, though, it’s easier to breathe past those feelings, easier not to feel so close when the city itself is disappearing, black against blue as it crests the horizon. Easier to swallow down the hurt and the hate that surges up when she can look around and see greens and yellows in the place of all that darkness, earth and grass and stupid nature instead of the artificial chaos that choked her for so long.

Sera doesn’t much like nature. Flat-out hates it, if she’s honest, but after two days in Denerim, strangled by the ghosts of her past and the harsh reality of other people’s present, it’s almost like a breath of fresh air. Maybe because it actually _is_ a breath of fresh air, like, in the literal sense. As in, actual air and actual freshness and… yeah. Sera usually hates that sort of shite, but after the stink of the city it smells almost as good as Leliana’s armour, almost as comforting as that leather-and-bird smell, and Sera finds that she spends almost as much of the early journey with her head up, looking around and watching the trees and fields rush by, breathing in all that stupid nature shit, as she does with her nose pressed between Leliana’s shoulders.

Helps, too, the way that things have changed between them. Not completely, of course, not in a way that means people will be gossiping or shit; Sera’s not so idealistic or stupid to think that there’s a _them_ to talk about just because they frigged in an alley one time, or because they may or may not do it again a time or two once they’re back at Skyhold. Takes more than that to make a _them_ out of anyone, but especially the likes of them; they’ve both been hiding in the shadows so long, Sera’s honestly not sure either one of them is healthy enough to make a _them_ out of anything. Anyway, what’s the point in thinking about it? Words and shite. Who cares when the thing they are, whatever it is, works? Doesn’t have to be some world-shattering romance to mean something, right?

And this? This means something. Yeah, it does.

So, yeah. Between the them-not- _them_ feelings and the relief at being away from Denerim, it doesn’t feel like the last time at all. There’s no awkward silences, no uncomfortable moments that might or might not be heavier than they are, no moments where either one of them gets trapped in memories the other can’t see. They know where they stand this time. Or, well, Sera does, at least; it’s always hard to know what Leliana’s thinking, where her head’s at, but not even a proper idiot could miss the way she smiles now, the way it comes easier to her, the way her eyes don’t get quite so sad when they catch the horizon, when she retreats back inside herself and thinks about the things she’s lost.

She’s talking more now, too, and Sera’s glad for that. She’s damn near hoarse from all the yelling and talking she’s been doing, and the thinking just made it feel even heavier, like she was letting out a whole lot more than she really was. It’s good that Leliana’s taking some of the weight now, like the whole faith-trust thing goes both ways, and it’s really good that she has shit to say that isn’t just _‘how do you feel about that, Sera?’_.

They make camp when the sun goes down. Huddle together in front of the fire and watch the spit and hiss of freshly-killed mutton. It’s peaceful, almost perfect, and seemingly right out of nowhere Leliana looks up and says, “Would you care for a song?”

For a moment or two, Sera can only blink. “A what?”

“A song,” Leliana says again, like it’s not the weirdest frigging thing in the whole world. Her eyes are dark, reflections of the firelight flickering behind them, and she leans in like she’s sharing secrets that no-one else will ever know. “I was a Bard, you know.”

Sera shrugs, tries to look like she doesn’t care. “Know it, yeah.” Everyone does, which makes the whole secret-sharing mood even more weird. “Still don’t make sense, though, does it?”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Because you’re _you_ , innit? I mean…” Not really helpful, that, so she throws up her arms to emphasise the point. No idea, really, how that’s supposed to make things clearer, but it feels right for the moment so she runs with it. “You know. Big scary Sister Nightingale. Shadow of Birds. Super-secret Spymaster for the big bad Inquisition. All that crap, yeah? It’s not exactly… I mean you… that is…” Gives up, shakes her head. “Shite. Didn’t you leave all that stuff behind?”

Leliana chuckles. “If this trip has taught us anything,” she says, “it is that the things we leave behind are often closer than they appear.”

 _Not for me, they’re not,_ Sera thinks, surprised by how bitter it makes her feel. Honestly, it’s kind of the exact opposite with her. Her shit’s so far away she can hardly even see it any more, further than she ever could’ve imagined. For her, this whole frigging trip was about learning that things _aren’t_ as close as she thought they were, that maybe it’s not the stupidest thing in the world to let them go.

Well, that and the box, nestled neatly in her palm. Different kind of lesson, that, and it goes down a whole lot easier after the rest. She holds it tight for a few seconds, squeezes it a couple of times, then sets it down at her side.

“Speak for yourself,” she says, trying to ignore the way her hands shake, the way they hate being empty.

Another chuckle, softer this time, and just a little self-deprecating. “That’s all anyone can do, yes?”

She pokes at the fire, squints at the slow-cooking meat, pretends like she’s checking how well-done it is, and not hanging on Sera’s reactions. Sera watches her, wishing she could make things sound as straightforward as Leliana does, like it really is that simple, like normal people could ever be so self-aware that they’d only ever speak for themselves. Makes it sound so clean, so easy. Sera likes that, probably more than she should.

Leliana’s eyes are shadowed by her hood, and the flickering firelight makes them seem ethereal. She’s still staring at the fire, the meat, but Sera can tell she’s further away now than she was a moment ago. Wonders where she’s gone, what she’s thinking about. Her precious Hero, probably; the years between them are very long, but in the light of the fire Leliana’s seem to burn away, until she seems almost as young as Sera is, until even Sera can almost believe that they really are back there.

Makes a kind of sense, she supposes, that Leliana would be thinking of that now. All that shite about the past being closer than it seems; it was never really about being a Bard, was it? Sera wonders if it’s comforting to close the distance, if Leliana finds solace in tasting her sweet memories again, or if it hurts like Sera hurts when she fumbles for her bitter ones and finds them out of reach.

Sad whatever way you cut it, really, and it makes Sera sigh. She swallows, taps out a nonsense rhythm with her fingers against the little box, tuneless and silly. Thinks of music, of her little room at the tavern with that awful minstrel’s shite drifting up through the cracks in the floorboards. Thinks of bards without the capital B, the kind that only sing, thinks of the joy that sort of piss is supposed to bring. Freedom, yeah, to dream while awake. Listening to other people’s stories, other people’s lives, closing your eyes and imagining that they’re yours instead. Thinks of all that, taps out an end to her silly songless rhythm, and finds Leliana’s hand.

“Sure,” she says, soft as a whisper. “A song would be great.”

It surprises her, how sweet Leliana’s voice is. Never expected that, though maybe she should have. Don’t become a bard — either kind — unless you can charm the clothes off anyone, right?

Sera doesn’t recognise the song. That’s not really new, though; music doesn’t stick in her head like it does in some people’s, and it’s hard to tell sometimes whether she’s supposed to recognise something or not. So, yeah, maybe she’s heard it before somewhere, maybe she hasn’t; either way it doesn’t much matter. What’s important is how it sounds, the words so painful and so pretty and Leliana’s voice so frigging sweet; Sera could probably live off this shit, given half the chance.

It casts a spell over her as sure as any mage, puts her in thrall as easy as any demon, and isn’t that what the capital-B Bards are supposed to do? Seduce with song and all that shit? Probably not what Leliana’s aiming for right now — she’s already got Sera wrapped around her finger, and they both know it — but maybe old habits die hard for her too because, yeah, this shit is magic as sure as anything. Beautiful, aching, and kind of sad.

Then again, maybe it’s not really the song itself that’s sad. Maybe it’s just Leliana, her own sorrow bleeding into the words, the melody, trembling through her voice and turning an old song into something new. Not just in the song; it’s in all of her. The way her eyes get wet when they hit a word that means something, the way she gets all hazy and distant, gazes up at the sky, looks for things Sera can’t see, like maybe she’s not really singing this stuff for Sera at all.

Sera looks up too, follows her gaze. Watches the stars flood the sky as it gets dark, remembers the way she used to do this, how different it was. Thinks of Denerim, of dirty alleys and dark corners, of lying on her back, shaking and starving and sometimes sick, picking out shapes in the starscape just to give herself something to do. Thinks of Skyhold, too, the day they arrived, remembers watching the clouds chase each other across the horizon, wondering if the stars would look the same, if she could still count them as easily, waiting for the sky to clear and night to fall so she could try. Thinks of a lot of things, past and future, and marks them both with her fingertips, tracing the lines of Leliana’s palm with one hand and scoring cracks in her small painted box with the other.

Leliana touches her like she’s something precious. Leans in when the song ends, and kisses her. It’s sweet like her voice, sad like the look in her eyes, soft and slow and way more meaningful than it should be. She tastes sad, if that’s even the thing, like the lyrics still linger on her lips. Like memory, maybe, and Sera knows that it’s not really _her_ she’s kissing, that she’s lost in some not-so-distant memory, seeing things that aren’t there, kissing and touching the ghost of someone long dead, but that’s okay. After Denerim, after everything, Sera can give her this.

And, yeah, she does. Closes her eyes, lets Leliana lead. Lets herself imagine the Hero of Ferelden too, not to wonder but to pretend. Maybe they weren’t so different; who’s to say? She doesn’t know the first thing about her, what she was or how she lived, but imagination’s a powerful thing, innit? Not so hard to picture her as some scrawny little nothing, pointed ears and dirt on her knees, some flat-eared knife-ear from some down-and-out corner of Denerim. Not so hard to imagine that she might have a quick bow and a quick grin, scars and freckles and broken skin, that maybe she didn’t know what fancy words meant either. Silly, yeah, but it’s nice to imagine.

Probably wasn’t like that. Knows that, she does. ‘Hero of Ferelden’; with a fancy-pants name like that, she was probably some big-name big-shot from somewhere else, somewhere with titles and rules and all that shit. Probably, yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to pretend. Leliana’s doing a good job of it, of seeing her Hero in Sera’s face, so maybe it’s okay if Sera pretends to see the same thing. A little bit, anyway. Not her place to think more than that, but it’s something. Helps her to feel more connected, more useful, more like someone important. More like _someone_.

“What was she like?”

Blurts it right out, she does, half-muffled against the corner of Leliana’s mouth, like it’s her place to know. Doesn’t even stop to think that the question might cut, not until it’s too late to take it back.

Flushes furiously when she realises, scrambles back and stammers. She wants to apologise or something, make it clear that she wasn’t thinking, that she knows it’s insensitive, _something_ , but Leliana just smiles like it’s the most natural question in the world. Looks almost happy about it, to be honest, like she’s flattered, like Sera’s curiosity is worth anything, like maybe it’s worth everything. She closes the space Sera’s put between them, kisses her again, just once, real quick, then pulls away. Squeezes her hand just a bit, and sighs with the sweetest sorrow Sera’s ever heard.

“She was a formidable woman,” she says. “Strong, resourceful, and so witty… she could slay with a word if she wanted to, and she had no idea. Young, as I was, and just as idealistic. Just as… foolish.” She sighs again; it’s all sorrow, this time, nothing sweet at all. “I suppose we found something in each other, she and I. Something we were both missing, perhaps. She was… she was everything my heart needed, in the very moment when it needed it most, and I… I flatter myself that I was the same for her.”

“Nice.” Stupid, the way she says it, all shaky and such, but Leliana’s looking at her like she needs to hear it, needs someone else to tell her how much her romance was worth. “Sounds… sounds real grand, yeah?”

“It was, yes. I…” She turns away, as though embarrassed. “I may never forgive the Maker for taking her from me when He did. A terrible thing to say, yes? But…”

Sera turns to stare at the fire, hopes Leliana doesn’t see the way her eyes harden to steel. “Doesn’t sound so terrible to me.”

“No?” She chuckles, but it’s empty. Sounds so tragic, like the loss broke more than just her heart. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t. You were never tied to the Chantry, no? Or bound to the Divine. Your faith… well, it carries less weight. It means only as much as you want it to.” She touches Sera’s face with the back of her hand, tender but with a hint of something like jealousy. “Be glad for that.”

Sera snorts, because she’s nothing if not frigging tactless in the worst possible moments. “Easier said than done, yeah?” she huffs. “Be nice to have some answers.”

Leliana shakes her head. “Ah, but then it would not be faith.”

Sounds like she kind of wants some answers herself, though. Must be hard, Sera thinks, wanting something but knowing it would do more harm than good; Sera’s never had that kind of self-awareness, that depth of insight. She’s always just taken shit as it happens, slammed through everything without looking inside, choking down the bad stuff instead of the good and wondering why it makes her sick. Too impatient for self-reflection or whatever. Too angry. Too much of too many things, honestly, and as much as she’d like to be more like Leliana, it’s just not who she is. Probably never find that kind of faith, the blind never-questioning kind, and looking at Leliana now she wonders if maybe she’s okay with that. At the very least, it means she won’t ever have to hurt when it lets her down like it did the Left Hand of the Divine.

“I guess,” she says. Keeps it vague, monosyllabic, because she doesn’t want to make Leliana sad by pointing out the guts of it. No doubt she’s already well aware.

“In any case,” Leliana presses on, a little too quickly, “we weren’t discussing my faith, now, were we?”

Sera doesn’t answer that one. Doesn’t say that she kind of does what to discuss this shit, that comparing Leliana’s conflicted feelings might help Sera to navigate the muddy waters of her own faith, such as it is. So much shit she doesn’t know, and sometimes it feels like shouting into the wind or staring into the Void; honestly, she’d give almost anything to sit down and really talk about that shit with someone who really gets it. Wants to, yeah, and Leliana looks so small, so much like maybe she wants to get it out there too, and there’s a part of Sera that just wants to reach in and say, _yeah, let’s do that_ , but Leliana’s right: that’s not what this is about.

Later, yeah? Back at Skyhold, back _home_ , when they’re both a little cleaner, a little further away from the place that cut them open, the place that shook them both to their bones. For now, it’s Leliana’s time to think, to remember, and Sera knows better than to get in the way of that. So, yeah, she does the right thing, the good thing, the thing that Leliana does so well when sera’s the broken one, when she’s rocking on her heels in an alley, choking out her own stupid history. Leliana’s so good at this, and Sera’s not, but she owes it to her to try, to shove her own feelings aside and frigging _listen_.

Leliana sighs, taking her silence as an invitation to keep going. “The Hero of Ferelden…” She sounds so far away, so lost, and Sera kisses her her cheek to steady them both. “There will never be another like her. Not in my lifetime.”

That’s not really what she means, Sera can tell. It’s not about how long, it’s about how _much_. How much she felt, how much of her heart is broken, how much of it she has left. She doesn’t mean _’not in my lifetime’_ ; she means, _’not for me’_. Ferelden’s already recovered, already moved on; Denerim looked like nothing ever happened, and Sera knows that’s true for the rest of the country too; whether there’s another Hero of Ferelden or not, it doesn’t matter to them, so long as there’s not another bloody Blight.

Sera gets what she really means. Won’t ever be another lover like that. The space left in her heart is too small; she’ll die before she can fit another person in there. Sounds less painful, though, pretending it’s about lifetimes and the turning of the world and all that shite. Like the song, kind of, sadness wrapped up in a sweet voice and soft words, a melody made to make other people ache. Makes it less about her own pain, more about the world, about everyone else but never just her. Like it would be so frigging selfish to take something like this for herself.

Wouldn’t be. _Wouldn’t_ , and Sera won’t let Leliana turn this into something it’s not. Won’t let her dilute her own heartbreak for the sake of people who aren’t even frigging here, who don’t even frigging care, maybe-people who might not even exist. Who cares that the Hero saved them? Who cares if she didn’t? Shouldn’t matter when they’re the only two here, when it’s just her and Leliana and some secret song.

Leliana’s sorrow is such a fragile thing, delicate and beautiful like the song, and Sera can tell that she’s been carrying both around for a really long time. Had to, she supposes, given who she is. No time for mourning when you’re the Left Hand of the Divine, when you’ve got duty and all that shit. Got to hide away all that personal shit, shove it down where no-one can see it. Had to do it, didn’t she, because it was frigging expected of her. She’s spent so long putting herself to the side, Leliana has, and why? So bloody long hiding her own feelings, shutting herself down, trying not to feel, and all for the ‘greater good’. Saving the world or serving some dead Divine or founding a frigging Inquisition. It’s always something, innit? And when does it stop? When does she get to put all that stupid responsibility down and just frigging _feel_?

Nothing shameful in hurting, not when you got a reason, so when does Sister Nightingale get to step back and let hers flow? When does she get to look up at the stars and see the woman she loved? A _woman_ , a frigging _person_ , not just some nameless whatever with a fancy title. The Hero of Ferelden, whatever, but Sera doesn’t even know her name. Leliana’s probably got all that shit, the important shit, stamped on her heart, probably keep it there forever, but the rest of the world doesn’t frigging care.

It’s not fair, Sera thinks. It’s not fair and it’s not right.

“Tell me about her,” she says, breathless with how much she means it, how much she wants to know. Hates learning lessons, but she could spend the rest of her life learning what’s important to Leliana. “Not… not, like, the Hero of Ferelden. Not like, _‘oh, she killed an Archdemon, it was so grand’_. Don’t care about piss like that. Don’t want it. But _her_. The stuff that’s real. The stuff that’s in you. You know?”

“I know,” Leliana says, very softly.

Sera grins, or tries to. Watery, a little shaky, but she tries. “Yeah, you do. And, like, maybe I want to, too? Know, I mean. Like, really _know_. I mean, I don’t know nothing about nothing, yeah? And all that Hero stuff… they got books and shite for that, right? If I wanted to. But I don’t, because history is stupid and shitty. Hate it. Frigging hate it. But _her_? She’s not that. She’s… she’s _yours_ , yeah?”

Leliana bows her head. The fire hisses, spits, a drop of water striking the flame.

“She was,” she says, ever so softly. “For a time, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Sera swallows hard. “And you… _you_ , I want. To know. You know?”

“I know,” she says again, but her smile is so very sad.

“Yeah. So, uh. You know. Her. You. All of it, anything you want. Or don’t. You know, if you don’t want. Just… uh…” But she’s so shit at this, so frigging bad at saying what she means, and she wants to punch herself in the mouth, steal the words to that stupid song, do anything she can to make her own worthless words sound like something worthy. “Just, whatever, yeah? Everything, nothing, anything. It’s… it’s all good.”

Leliana kisses her forehead. Says a lot of things, that kiss. Things like _thank you_ and _bless you_ and _I care for you_. Things that Sera doesn’t need to hear, things that maybe Leliana wants to say to someone else. And she can’t, but that’s okay, because Sera’s here and she can listen and if they both close their eyes they can both pretend that she’s more than she is.

“It’s all good, yeah?” she whispers again, and Leliana’s lips turn wet against her skin, staining them both with salt.

“Yes,” she says, ever so softly. “Yes, it is.”

*

It’s a long way back to Skyhold, and Leliana has no shortage of stories.

She spreads them out even and slow. A tale or two over the evening meal, another over breakfast, and so on, settling into a rhythm as they travel. Real good, she is, and a brilliant storyteller. Better than Varric, any day, because these stories frigging matter. Not to the fate of the world or anything, but to _her_ , and that makes them matter to Sera as well. Best kind of story, the kind that matters, and Leliana never gives away too much in one place. Never anything that cuts too deep, that skims too close. Enough for what it is, though, and always enough for Sera.

For her part, Sera doesn’t talk much. She’s not big on asking questions at the best of times, not unless she wants to learn something, and this is definitely not about that. Good to pretend it is, but they both know better; this is about Leliana. And, yeah, Sera’s as curious as anything, but it’s about giving back, about giving Leliana something she can use to heal too, an outlet for all those memories that came back in Denerim. Not so easy for her as it was for Sera, with her past waiting in every dark corner, every alley, everything. Denerim was the start of everything for Sera; for Leliana it was the end, and now it’s Sera’s turn to give Leliana a place where she can remember the things that didn’t hurt instead of the things that still do.

So, yeah, she just sits quietly. Listens, attentive with every part of herself, as still as stone while Leliana talks and thinks and sometimes sings. Gazes up at the sky when it looks like Leliana needs a private moment for herself, counts the stars because it’s easier for a Nightingale to cry when she imagines no-one else can see the tears.

At night, when Leliana’s done talking and Sera’s too tired to listen, they come together. Between the stars and the stories and the daylight hours riding on and on towards Skyhold, their bodies fit together in all the right places, as naturally and easily as if they’ve been doing it all their lives.

It’s different. Completely different, for both of them. Not like in Denerim, with Sera gasping and shuddering and turning pain into pleasure in a place that left marks on her skin, with Leliana smiling and paving over those marks with a different kind, the kind that won’t stick. Different, real different, and this time when Sera seeks out her hidden places she doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t smile and sigh, doesn’t shake her head and push her away. Doesn’t say _‘Skyhold’_.

Sera doesn’t know why, and she doesn’t ask. Afraid to know the answer, maybe, or maybe she just gets that it’s none of her business. Might be that it’s easier with the city behind them, the hurts a little less fresh, the heartache a little further away. Then again, might just as easily be the opposite, that things are harder here; might be that she’s aching a little more than she did back there, that the memories of her precious Hero feel closer to the surface with her real name on her tongue all the time, with those stories pouring out of her like wine at a wedding. Might be that she feels there’s nothing left of her to expose, like maybe her stories are more intimate than her body.

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t really matter. Only thing that does matter is that she doesn’t say _‘Skyhold’_. Doesn’t still Sera’s wandering hands, doesn’t tell her to wait. She lets her give back, and more than once. Again and again, she lets her seek out the shadows between her legs, the space she kept secret, locked up inside that armour. Lets her touch, explore, search, lets her _find_. Throws her head back when she does, voice high and ragged and rasping, whispers prayers to a silent Maker. Watches with salt on her cheeks as Sera wipes the sorrow from her fingers.

It’s a far cry from that Denerim alley, and a far cry from the songs as well. Distant, in its way, from all the things they struggle with, all the places that hurt. So distant, yeah, but Sera doesn’t flinch when Leliana traces the scars on her skin, and when it’s her turn to do the same Leliana lets her into the places her Hero kissed. In all her life, she’s never felt so intimate, so completely connected to something that will never be hers.

They sleep with tangled limbs, all cooling sweat and nonsense words pressed to intimate places. Leliana doesn’t say her name, not ever, but Sera doesn’t care. It’s not about that, not about making a _them_ out of something that’s just them. Nothing they’ve done has ever been about that, and Sera’s not about to start now. She’s still just Sera, and when they get back to Skyhold Leliana’s going to have to become the scary Spymaster again, alone in her rookery with her stupid birds. Can’t compromise either of those things, and they wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s the way it is, that’s all, and it’s just fine. It works, doesn’t it? Works real well.

Anyway, Sera would never want to be someone’s reason for singing such sweet songs with so much sadness.

*

“Leliana?”

It’s late. Real late, or maybe real early; hard to tell without going outside to check. They’re maybe two or three days into the journey, long enough that they’ve settled into a neat little routine of talking till they’re tired then sleeping till sunrise. Making good time, too, and Sera finds that she’s almost dreading the moment that Skyhold appears on the horizon. Going to miss this, she is. Like, _really_ miss it, in a way that makes her bones ache. Waking up with a warm body pressed against her, naked and slick and vaguely sore, opening her eyes to someone else’s, falling asleep to the rise and fall of their breathing, both of them in perfect rhythm. Just… being like this. All of it.

Hits her hard right now, it does, the weakness inside her when she thinks of getting back there. Like a rock in her chest, making her heart pound, because she’s jolted awake from another dream. In-between, this one, good in places and bad in others, the kind that makes her forget that she’s moved on, forget that she left those parts of her back in Denerim. Doesn’t know what to feel, pain or fear or hate, and she hides her face in Leliana’s cleavage, chokes out her name in a way that could be a plea or a prayer.

Leliana’s maybe already awake, or maybe she’s slipping back into Spymaster mode already, because she doesn’t even need a moment to wake up. Holds her tight, like maybe she can cut through the noise in Sera’s body, still the shaking in her limbs, like she knows what she needs when Sera’s still stuck trying to figure out what she’s bloody feeling.

“I’m here,” she says, voice as clear as a bell in the dark tent. “As are you.”

That’s all. Not much, but it means a lot that she doesn’t assume nightmares like she did the last time. Knows her better now, understands that there are worse things in Sera’s head than the scary shit they both deal with every day. Much worse, the good shit, the vague memories, the things she still can’t bring herself to fully remember, blurry pictures like portraits all smudged and ruined before the paint has a chance to dry. Hazy echoes of another place she called home, another life where she thought she might belong, and the endless emptiness when it all disappeared.

Hates that she’s still scared of that. Even now, even after everything, it still makes her heart stop to think about it. The leaving and the losing, the part where pretty promises dissolve and leave only ugliness and lies underneath, the inevitable moment where _home_ turns to _hate_. Still scared, even now, of waking up one morning to find Skyhold empty, or just waking up a thousand leagues away without any explanation. So scared of waking up to find that all these new promises were lies as well. It’s the only thing she knows how to expect, and Maker, she hates that.

 _Hates it_. Probably never lose it, either, not completely. Probably never know how it feels to wake up and not panic, not spend every minute wondering, waiting, dreading. Probably never know what it’s like to feel truly at home in a place she didn’t make for herself. A lot of things she’ll probably never know, and she clings to Leliana until the haze of half-sleep disappears, until the warmth and the nostalgia lift just enough that she can try to make sense.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

Never be brave enough to ask that one in daylight, so she lets the shadows shroud the terror on her face.

Leliana sits up. Keeps one hand at Sera’s waist, steadying and strong, lifts the other to her face. Pushes back her hair like she does sometimes when she sees Sera’s vulnerability and can’t quite make out where it’s coming from.

“What do you mean?” she asks. “You’ve already proven your talents—”

“Piss on my frigging talents.” She swallows, steadies her voice, fumbles with both hands for the small painted box, for something to hold on to, something to touch that isn’t skin. “You know what I mean. You…” Lets the edges and corners dig into her palm, squeezes hard, turns it over a couple of times. “You _know_ , yeah? All the shit that got us here in the first place. Messing with Milady Josie and her stupid noble allies. Stealing, hiding, making trouble. All that stuff I’m supposed to get better at now, and I…” Her voice breaks. “What if I’m not good enough, yeah? What if all I got is what I am? Been doing this shite forever, and what if… what if knowing you gotta stop isn’t enough? What if I… what if I _can’t_?”

“Of course you can,” Leliana says. “I have faith in you.”

“Faith.” Sera chokes on a sob, wishes the word didn’t mean as much as they both know it does. “Let you down once before, didn’t it? And I’m not… I’m no frigging Andraste, yeah? No frigging Maker neither. Whole lot easier for some knife-ear nothing to let you down than… than the likes of Them. And if They can do it… if _They_ can mess it all up…” Shakes her head. “Idiots like me don’t stand a frigging chance.”

Leliana’s smiling. Light, easy, visible even in the darkness, and Sera wishes she wasn’t so good at shite like this, wishes that her touches weren’t so soft, her voice so sweet, wishes she could turn away and pretend that this isn’t real.

“On the contrary,” Leliana says, after a moment. “It is far easier to be… ‘let down’, as you put it… by someone you cannot see, no? No matter how fervently I may wish it, I can’t simply sit down at the Maker’s side and ask Him to explain Himself. I will never know why He demands such terrible sacrifices, why He tests us the way He does. I can wonder a thousand times, seek out a thousand explanations, but I will never truly know His reasons.”

“Shitty,” Sera grumbles, and squeezes the box until her fingers hurt.

Leliana shakes her head, cups her cheek. So tender, so soft, so frigging perfect. “But you, as you say, are no Maker, no Andraste. This means that you are not bound by such things as They are. If you feel you have ‘let me down’, what is to stop you from seeking me out to explain yourself? You can come to me whenever you like, for whatever reason. You can come to me and say, _‘I was not good enough, Leliana’_ or _‘I tried, Leliana, but I failed’_. And I will accept that.”

Sera bites her lip, wishes she could believe that. “Will you? Like, really?”

“Certainly,” Leliana says. “But then, why wait for such a thing to occur? Why not pre-empt it entirely?”

Sera’s ear twitches. Sharp, sudden, like when a bee lands there. “You what?”

“Oh, Sera.” A kiss to her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “Why do you feel you must wait until you have already faltered? Why wait until you have an apology to give, until the mistake is already made and can’t be taken back? What is there to stop you from coming to me first? As I say, you can seek me out whenever you like. There is nothing to stop you from coming to me when the feeling comes, when you find yourself drawn back into those shadows of yours. There is nothing to stop you from taking my hand and saying, _’Leliana, I need you’_.”

“I…” Sera closes her eyes, lets Leliana thumb away the tears.

Doesn’t need to say it, because of course Leliana gets it. Gets the hesitation, the fear, the panic that flares in her chest at just the thought of doing such a thing. She’s good that way. Has been from the beginning, so patient and so frigging _good_. Too good for the likes of Sera.

“I understand,” she says. “But do you truly believe that one little disappointment will shatter my faith forever?”

Sera shakes her head, but it’s not an answer to the quest. “Yes? No? I don’t…”

“ _No_ ,” Leliana answers for her, serious and very pointed. “Of course it won’t. No matter the fragility of my faith in the Maker, my faith in _you_ is a thing apart.”

“You sure?” She turns her face away, can’t let Leliana see how deeply she believes in her own worthlessness. “Because I… I’m not exactly the kind of bet you’d want to put your sovereigns on, yeah?”

“Perhaps not. But if the money is mine to wager, perhaps the choice should be mine as well, yes?” She’s smirking a little when Sera looks back, like she’s real proud of that metaphor. “Your impulses run deep, Sera. Deeper than I first thought… perhaps even deeper than you did. You do what you do because you feel compelled to, because you believe you don’t know how to do anything else. It is down to you to change, yes, to rein in those impulses where you can. And when you cannot…” She takes Sera’s face in hands, tender but strong, and forces her to look her in the eye. “When you cannot… well, then it is down to you to ask for help.”

Hits hard, that, worse than a blow in its own way. “Don’t know how to do that.”

“You will.”

She sounds so sincere, like she believes it so passionately, so powerfully, like the faith runs blood-deep, like she really does believe in stupid Sera more than she believes in the frigging Maker. Terrifying, that. Frigging _terrifying_.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.” Like it’s as simple as that, like it doesn’t make no frigging sense. “As I said, I have faith in you. And have we not already established that faith, by its nature, negates the need for knowing?”

“Guess so,” Sera mutters. Feels good, the way her jaw goes tight, the way she gets all sullen. Better sullen than scared.

“So, then. There you have it. I have faith in you. I have faith that, should the moment ever come, you will trust not only me but yourself as well. Should you find yourself faltering, which in any case may never happen, I have faith that you will seek me out before you will allow yourself to surrender completely.” She leans right in, touches Sera’s forehead with her own, both warm from the shared blanket, the shared space. “There are many kinds of faith, Sera, and many kinds of trust as well. Time will tell if you can find either for yourself. But for now, let it be enough that I have both.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Sera challenges, clinging to the anger, the defiance, because it’s the only weapon she can rely on when her bow is out of reach. “What if your precious faith is misplaced again? What if I’m just shitty and worthless after all? What if I really am _nothing_?”

Leliana sighs. She lies back down on the ratty little bedroll, opens her arms for Sera to crawl into. It’s a moment before she can bring herself to do it, though, to give in to the vulnerable part of herself, the part that needs the comfort more than she needs to hide from it. Leliana doesn’t push her, just waits, and when Sera throws herself into her arms she just holds her close and rocks them both. Lets Sera breathe in the scent of her, the feathery leathery secret-smell that clings to her even when she’s naked, lets that ground her. Traces the curve of Sera’s jaw with her lips, feather-light kisses that are gone almost before they’re there, soothing her until the anger bleeds out, until the defiance dissolves to almost nothing, until they’re both close to drifting off again.

“I do not believe that will be the case,” she says, a rush of breath against Sera’s ear. “But if it is, then so be it. There is no fault that cannot be overcome with enough determination. And even if you lack such a thing for yourself, I do not. Should you prove, as you say, ‘not good enough’… well, then, we shall simply have to try again. Together.”

Sera closes her eyes, tries really hard to believe, to find that kind of faith. Reaches for the small painted box, and hugs it to her chest, pressed like a treasure between their bodies.

“Together?” she echoes, almost fearful.

Leliana kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth. “Together.”

*

They’re maybe a day from Skyhold, just one long stretch, when Leliana hands over the reins.

The horse’s reins, that is, not some metaphorical shite about power or whatever. Does it without a word, she does, like she knows Sera would argue if she got the chance. Doesn’t give her one, just pulls up to a stop, hops down, and hands them over.

She’s got a big grin on her face, all expectant and shite, like she expects Sera to just shrug, accept the stupid thing, and ride on, like she expects her to have any idea what’s going on.

Sera, of course, doesn’t. The reins feel weird in her hands, heavy but not in the way she’s used to. She’s used to the sharp edges of the painted box or the soft worn-in curves of Leliana’s gloves, sometimes other things too, slickness and skin, but that’s less heavy and more… well, something else. Either way, it’s not like this. This feels more like a struggle, like the reins don’t want to be held, or maybe they just don’t want to be held by _her_. Like she’s not good enough. No surprise there, she thinks, and glares down at Leliana from the horse’s back.

“You what?”

Leliana, of course, plays it innocent. Quirks a brow, tries a little too hard not to smirk, doesn’t frigging fool either of them. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” Tries to sound all sober and serious, like she’s ever been able to pull off that kind of shite. Just comes off sounding like a little kid, doesn’t she? Bratty and petulant and frigging stupid. Just like always. “What’s this all about? This whole driving thing, that’s your thing, innit? Why give it to me?”

“My arms are tired.” Bullshit, that, but she rolls her shoulders anyway, all exaggerated and weary and whatever, like she expects Sera to believe it just because she puts on a show. “in any event, I thought you might appreciate a pleasant view for once. It must be rather boring, having to watch the world pass by from over my shoulder, no?”

“Not really,” Sera grumbles, but it gets her thinking anyway.

Got to be some hidden meaning there. Some metaphor about watching the world go by, hiding behind other people instead of jumping to the front, something deep and stupid like that. Got to be; Leliana never says nothing straight, and Sera’s long used to her heavy-handed metaphors by now. Still makes a point of ignoring it, though. Her view of the world has always been just fine, thank you very much, and she’s sure as shit not about to complain when it involves Sister Nightingale’s back pressing up against her tits every time the ground gets a bit uneven. Just fine, yeah? Just frigging fine.

“Anyway,” she blurts out, shaking it off. “You never worried about that before. Why change it up now?”

“Why not?” Leliana counters, as evasive and annoying as ever. “Are you so afraid of being in control for a while?”

Actual answer? Shit, yes. But of course she doesn’t say that out loud. Can’t let Sister Nightingale see her flinch, not after everything they’ve been through, everything she’s already seen. It’d be stupid, wouldn’t it, balking at something as simple as this after the shit they saw in Denerim. Just a frigging horse, innit? A stupid frigging horse, and Sera’s ridden more than her share of those since she started with the Inquisition. Hates the sodding things, yeah, but when they’re crossing frigging countries, she’d gladly take some stinky whatever if the alternative is walking.

Besides, it’s stupid, innit? Seeing hidden meanings and metaphors in shit like this. Been listening to Leliana sing for too long, and now she’s going a bit daft. Soft in the head, all starry-eyed and shite, just like the girls in those songs. It’s just a frigging horse, just the frigging reins… it’s just _Leliana_ , pressed her tits against _Sera’s_ back, turning it around. Just her, trusting that Sera knows what she’s doing, trusting her to get them home in one piece, trusting and trusting and trusting. Nothing scary there, right? Right?

“Course not,” she says aloud, rather more to herself than Leliana.

Leliana pats the horse’s flank. She’s gentle with it, like proper gentle, in a way she doesn’t often get with people. She’s not detached here, not all fancy and prissy and Nightingale; she’s soft with the horse, sweet and gentle like she is with Sera sometimes. And, yeah, maybe that says something about her, that Leliana uses that same gentleness on her that she uses on a frigging horse, but honestly she doesn’t much care.

Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? That Leliana would have a way with animals, that Sera would be responsive to that animal-gentleness of hers, all of it. Trapped things always react the same way, no matter where they come from, and anyone who spends every waking minute surrounded by bloody birds has got to be a frigging animal-whisperer or something. Makes sense for them both.

Still, it’s kind of funny. Leliana doesn’t have the look of someone sentimental, the kind of person who’d give names to her pets; it’s about the last thing anyone would expect of the enigmatic Spymaster, but Sera knows that she does exactly that. Mean the whole frigging world to her, those bloody birds. She’s seen the notes, heard the way she talks to them up there in the rookery when she thinks no-one’s about, the way she calls them by name, coos like a child when they come back, seen the way she gets all affectionate and gooey when they eat out of her hand. Acts like their mum, she does, like they’re her kids or something; sweet, yeah, even if the sight of it does leave a bitter cookie-taste in Sera’s mouth sometimes. She’s got a lot of heart to give, Leliana does, and Sera wonders if maybe it’s just easier to give it to animals than people.

Be nice if other people thought that way too, honestly. In Leliana’s case, it might be a self-preservation thing, but Sera can think of a good few arses who would’ve been a whole lot better off with kittens than kids. Surges in her chest, that thought, hot as a forge and real painful, and it makes her hands shake. Makes other parts of her shake too, but it’s her hands that twist the reins, twist and wrench and tug until the leather digs into her palms, deep enough to hurt, until—

—until the frigging horse decides that it’s had enough of being jerked around by some idiot.

Can’t really blame it for that, can she? It’s not exactly violent, but it is spooked, and it lets out a cry that sounds almost human. Almost, yeah, but not quite, and Sera doesn’t exactly have time to dissect the difference because all of a sudden it’s rearing up, like right on its back feet. Sera rears back too, as freaked out as the stupid beast, and that’s not really a surprise either, is it? No surprise at all that she’s got the same reflexes as a dumb animal; no wonder Leliana breaks through to her so easily, right? She yelps, making things about a thousand times worse for them both, and throws herself off the stupid horse’s back as fast as she can. Lands on her face, just like always, and comes up spitting dirt and curses.

Leliana’s already stepped between them. She’s got her legs apart, boots right next to Sera’s face, but her focus is on the horse One hand on its flank, the other on its neck, and she’s talking to it like it’s a person. Murmuring, more like, and her voice lifts and lilts like it did when she sang, sweet and soft and so beautiful that it makes Sera want to cry. Makes her hate, too, the old half-buried memory-hate that shakes through her hands, and she spits again because the bitterness in her mouth tastes so much worse than dirt.

“Piss,” she snarls, knuckles white against the grass. “Frigging… frigging _piss_!”

“Now, now…” Leliana says; her voice is melodic and low, even when she talks to Sera, because she doesn’t want to spook the horse again, and it works just as well on her as it does on him. “A minor setback, nothing more. You’ve ridden before, yes?”

“Of course,” Sera huffs. “Dozens of times.” True enough, and that just makes this whole mishap even more bloody embarrassing. “But this is different, innit? Riding with you. You and your… and your…”

“You can say it, you know.” She turns away from the horse, looks down at Sera; there’s a secret sort of smile on her face, like she knows what this is really about, all the hidden meanings that Sera sees in that innocuous offer of hers. “My faith in you?”

“Faith. Trust. Whatever you bloody call it. The whole lot, yeah? Different with all that on my back. Not like… not like when it’s just me. No-one cares if I get thrown. No-one. But with you, and the way you… and this…” Shakes her head, slams her fist into the ground. “ _This_. Bloody good reason to rethink all that faith shite, yeah?”

“Nonsense. You speak as though moments like this don’t happen a thousand times a day. And in any case, neither of you were the least bit injured. A little startled, perhaps, though honestly I suspect you were more so than he was… and if he can forgive you for the momentary distraction, I see no reason why you shouldn’t extend yourself the same courtesy.” She smiles, pats the horse’s neck with a fondness that almost makes Sera jealous. “Perhaps it is simply time you accepted that others are not nearly so put off by you as you are by yourself.”

“Idiots,” Sera mutters. “Bloody should be.”

Doesn’t resist, though, when Leliana crouches at her side. Doesn’t resist when she smiles and touches her face; doesn’t resist, even though those big old leather gloves smell of horse now, of horse and panic and failure. Doesn’t resist, either, when she brushes away the dirt on her cheek, kisses away the bitter taste in her mouth. Doesn’t resist when she helps her to stand and find her balance. Doesn’t resist, though she desperately wants to, when she hands back the reins and pats her lightly on the shoulder.

“There, now,” she says. “As good as new, yes?”

Sera shakes her head. Twists the reins around her hands, leather criss-crossing over her knuckles. Doesn’t yank them this time, or do anything that might upset the stupid horse, but she has to do something, can’t keep her hands still.

She stands there for a moment, catching her breath, then crosses back to the horse’s side. Nervous as anything, though she knows it’s stupid; she pokes at the silly thing with one finger. It snorts a little, like it’s amused or annoyed, but it doesn’t flinch or rear up again. Forgives real easy, apparently, and Sera tosses a frown back at Leliana. Maybe that’s another reason why the Shadow of Birds loves her pets more than people; they’re so bloody _forgiving_. Can’t hurt a bird by being too sneaky, can’t upset a horse by being too stupid. As long as they’ve got food in their bellies and warm blankets to sleep under, the world could fall apart for all they care.

And maybe that’s what this is really about. The hidden messages or whatever that Sera’s been looking for. Maybe it’s nothing more than this, some stupid horse who forgives a little too easily. Sera’s never been forgiven in her life, at least not properly; heck, she’s still halfway expecting Milady Josie to kick her back out onto the streets the second they get back to Skyhold. There’s a part of her, small and very scared, that kind of wants to believe Leliana would step in to stop her, but even if she does that’s no guarantee, is it?

Because this? Forgiveness? Acceptance? All those big words? She doesn’t know how to deal with piss like that. Never had it, so of course she doesn’t know what to do with it now that it’s here.

Doesn’t stop them, though, does it? Leliana doesn’t seem to mind that it’s taking Sera a whole lot longer to accept her acceptance than it took her to give it, and the horse… well, he’s already shaking his head and waiting to get back on the road. All but forgotten the whole affair, he has, and he can’t wait to be off and running again. Doesn’t even care that Sera’s the one holding the reins, doesn’t even care that she’s the one who spooked him in the first place, doesn’t even care that he’s putting his life, and Leliana’s, in her too-stupid hands. Doesn’t even frigging care.

So, then, why does she?

Leliana clears her throat, comes up behind her. She rests a hand on Sera’s back, lingers for a moment then lets it slide down real low. Like, arse-low. On purpose, probably, to set her off-guard, cut off the darker thoughts and replace them with cruder ones. Whatever her game, of course, it works like a frigging charm.

“Oi!”

“Indeed.” She’s proper smirking, like full-on, and Sera hisses. “Now, then. Perhaps we can dispense with this silliness, and be on our way?”

Sera swallows, looks up at the horse. Seems so much higher now than it did when she was up there. Makes her feel small and stupid all over again, pathetic just like she was in Denerim. Same feeling, yeah, but not exactly. Like maybe this time it’s coming from a different place. Been told all her life that she’s nothing, that she’s needless and senseless just like Leliana said up in the rookery before this whole thing started; always believed that she’s frigging worthless too, that it was all she’d ever be. All her life, that’s the only constant, the only kind of faith in herself she’s ever had. Knew for certain, or thought she did, that she’d never amount to anything. A broken kind of faith, but good enough when it’s all you’ve got, yeah?

Different, though. Not completely, but enough. Because, yeah, she still feels that way, still hears those whispers in the back of her head, but she’s not alone out here, and Leliana and the stupid horse are looking at her like they don’t see any of that shit at all.

They’re waiting on her, both of them. Waiting, all patient and eager and whatever, for her to take the reins, take control, take them home. They’re waiting on _Sera_ , like she alone is worth more than the two of them put together, and that’s… that’s just impossible, yeah? Impossible, but it’s really frigging hard to argue with the look on Leliana’s face. Really hard to argue with the weight of her hand on her shoulder, the gentle whinny from the horse when she finds the strength to climb up onto its back, the way it bows its head when she touches its neck. They’re looking at her, both of them, like she’s not worthless after all, like at least right now maybe she’s worth everything. It makes her wonder what weird other version of her they’re seeing when they look at her like that, because they sure as shit can’t be seeing—

“ _Sera._ ”

She turns, finds Leliana already at her back, pressed in close. Grounding with her warmth and her body, her presence, and reminding her too of the other night, of whispered words under their shared blanket, of crazy ideas like _together_ and _trust_ , of a kind of faith that has nothing to do with the Maker. Leliana, who maybe needs this just as much as she thinks Sera does, to give up the thing she’s been holding too close for too long. Leliana, who has been in control for so long, holding on tight to some kind of reins or another like they’re the only thing holding her together, like the control is as important for her as the smallness is for Sera, who needs to hand it over to someone she trusts, to prove to herself that she can.

So, yeah, maybe it’s about them both. Sera, learning to take hold of something, take control, trying to believe in herself, believe that she won’t let them down. Leliana, too, learning to let go, putting herself in someone else’s hands for probably the first time in ten years. And, sure, why not? Been a long, long journey for both of them, and what better time to make a start than with the end in sight?

It’s not much, really. Just the reins of some dumb beast who doesn’t know how to bear grudges against the idiot that spooked it, just the reins cutting into her hands where she holds them too tight, the corners of a small painted box digging into her hip where she’s got it stashed in her pocket because she couldn’t bear to put it too far out of reach. Just the press of chainmail against her back, the smell of birds and the melody of a long-dead song. Just her, Leliana, and a stupid horse. Almost nothing, innit?

Almost, yeah, but not quite. Not this time. This time, for once, it’s _something_.

*

One long stretch. That’s all they have left.

Sera’s hands shake where she grips the reins, legs shaking too where she squeezes the horse’s side, but she doesn’t let up. Goes hard, just like Leliana would. Won’t let them down, Leliana or the stupid horse, either of the bloody idiots who put their trust, their stupid _faith_ in her. And, yeah, she won’t let herself down, either; scary as anything, seeing herself that way, like maybe she’s a person in her own eyes too, and she tries real hard not to think about when that started happening. Leliana’s fault, probably; it’s real hard not to see herself as a person when Leliana looks at her like she’s more than one. 

It’s scarcely a few hours before Skyhold appears on the horizon, a fortress in shadow between the mountains. Less than an hour off, from the look of it, and the shaking in her limbs gets even worse when she makes that guess. Anticipation, yeah, but clouded by dread; a heady sort of feeling that takes her by the throat and makes her feel unwell.

She grits out a curse and yanks hard on the reins, hauls the horse to a stop with much more violence than she needs.

 _Skyhold_. The place is beautiful, sure enough, and intimidating as anything even from this distance; little wonder, looking at it, that Coryphespit hasn’t taking a swing at them yet. Sera’s intimidated too, of course, but it’s a very different kind. Not like _shite, that place could eat me alive_ or _wow, that’s one big fortress, huh?_ , but something else entirely.

It churns in her stomach like too much stolen food, spasms in her chest like the kind of panic she thought she’d left behind in Denerim. Because, yeah, she’s never really _looked_ at the place before. Not properly, not like this. Never had the time, honestly. Never stopped a horse in its tracks to take a good look, never shielded her eyes against the setting sun, never mapped out all those lines and angles in this kind of detail, the towers, the flags, everything. Never seen it in this kind of light before, the light that flickers like a hearth and pulses like a heart.

It’s been months since they found it, broken and battered and fresh from the attack on Haven. Months, yeah? The place has changed so much since they arrived there, since they stumbled half-dead into the weather-beaten ruin that would become their new home, and so much has happened that it’s barely even recognisable any more. It’s become something formidable, a base of operations to make nations and magister-gods tremble. It’s changed so frigging much, Skyhold has, but Sera never changed at all. Couldn’t. _Wouldn’t_. Not until now.

She’s seen the place a hundred times from distances like this, but she’s never really _looked_ at it. Never seen those flags and smiled. Never felt the tug in her chest, the twist in her gut. Never found herself thinking _home_.

She does now.

Scares her to death, that does, and she jumps down from the horse before the panic has a chance to overwhelm her completely. Drops to her knees, puts her head down between them, forces herself to breathe.

 _Home_.

She thought she’d made the word real when she said it the first time, but it cuts even deeper now as than did back then. Much deeper, because suddenly it’s right there, right in front of her, not an abstract ideal made manifest by words, but a _thing_ , a real and solid thing. Said it back in Denerim, sure, but that was days ago and it’s real frigging easy to say the word when you’re a thousand leagues away. Easy as anything to spout shite like that when you don’t really understand what it means, easy to imagine when you can’t really see. But she’s here now, and so is Skyhold, and she does see, has to see, and she has no choice but to understand.

 _Home_ , yeah, but it feels like a very different word when it’s towering over her, so close she can almost count the bricks, almost smell the ale from the tavern, almost hear the stupid minstrel’s songs, bawdy and silly and nothing like Leliana’s breathtaking sweetness. _Home_ , yeah, but it doesn’t mean what she thought it did.

“Sera?”

Leliana, crouched at her side. She’s got the reins in her hands again, picked them up before Sera even realised she’d let them fall, before she even stopped to think about what might happen if the horse got away. Just like she promised, stopping her from messing everything up. Sera wants to thank her for that, but it’s still too hard to breathe, and she doesn’t have enough air in her lungs to make words.

Seems to understand that, Leliana does, because she doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong, or maybe she knows that nothing really is, that this isn’t about what’s _wrong_ but what’s _right_ , and all the wonderful-terrible things that it’s doing to her head. Doesn’t ask her anything, doesn’t tell her anything, just says her name. “ _Sera_ ”, again. Reminds her, ever so quietly, of who she is, who they are, and how far they’ve come together from those dark Denerim alleys.

Sera chokes down a few more lungfuls of air. Grips her knees, keeps her head down between them, tries to keep from shaking too hard. Feels like she’s hiding, but she can’t be. Open space, no shadows to shroud her, no dark corners to keep her safe, just… just…

Just _nothing_.

Weird, she thinks, how this time it’s not so scary.

A hand on her back, warm and strong. That sweet sad voice, the same one she uses when she sings. Her name again, “ _Sera_ ,” and it sounds like a song too, like something that someone might sing a decade from now. Not like a tavern song, raunchy and mindless, but something that means something. Or might. To someone. Somewhere. Maybe.

Catches her breath at last. Raises her head, tries not to swallow her tongue. “Yeah.”

Leliana sits down properly, curling her legs under her. Drapes one arm across Sera’s shoulders, protecting like armour and comforting like a blanket, circles her knee with the other. Small circles, getting ever smaller. One, two, three. Rhythm, yeah, but not like a song at all.

“We’re in no hurry,” she says. “We can sit for a time, if you like.”

Sera nods. Fumbles in her pocket for the small painted box, turns it over in her hands. Doesn’t look at the surface, doesn’t lose herself in imagination and dreams, fantasies lit up in still-shimmering colours. Keeps her eyes on the horizon instead, the silhouette of a fortress that whispers _home_. Skyhold, yeah, and it’s more beautiful than any coloured paint, sharper than all its edges and corners. A different kind of box, not so pretty but just as precious, the kind that holds people instead of things.

“Feels weird,” she says aloud. “Looking at it. Seeing it. Like, _really_ seeing it. Makes me feel…”

But what can she say? Where does she even frigging begin with all the things she feels right now?

Real. That’s a good start. Because, yeah, it is. Not just some abstract ideal now, not just some far-off thought of a place that might be a home one day, if she ever gets back there. Not like that at all; it’s a real thing now, a solid place, and she’s staring right at it, _seeing_ it, and that means those things she thought it could be are real too. Not just some place that might be a home, but a real one, solid and visible and _there_.

They’ll be there too, soon. Like, really there, on the other side of the gates, and Sera will be able to put her hands to the walls, feel how solid they are, how complete, press her face to the surface and feel the way it scratches. Real scratches, from a real wall, in a real fortress… and maybe, just maybe, a real home too. 

More than just that, though. Feels like so many things. Scary, definitely. But maybe in a good way, a way that hums in her head like Leliana’s songs, like the press of her skin when the armour comes off, the sounds they make when their hands are hidden but their faces aren’t, like Sera’s breath hitching in a dark tent when she dreams, like the reflection of a fire in Leliana’s eyes, the tears turning to flame where they fall. Like all that, but made into something else, something new…

Good word, that. _New_. Because, yeah, it feels like that too. The small painted box is so old she can’t even remember where she got it, but she finds new things now when she traces the cracks in its surface. Skyhold, too. Ancient, yeah, crumbling and half-decayed when they found it, practically a ruin, but the Inquisition made it into something else, something important. Old things made new, and she remembers what a place like that means. Remembers how they got there, remembers why, remembers what it cost, blood and loss and vengeance. Skyhold matters, and that means the people who live there matter.

Means _she_ matters too.

Leliana shifts at her side, hums to herself. Funny, remembering that she’s going home as well. Back to her rookery, her silly birds, back to the shadows she lives in. Weird to think that the next time they see each other neither of them will be hiding. Because, yeah. _Home_ , a place where they don’t have to.

She touches her hand. Gentle, like she always is, soft like her eyes, sweet like her voice. Beautiful like all those things put together. “Sera?” 

Sera blinks, frowns, tries not to lose herself. “Huh?”

Leliana’s laugh is like wine; it’s rich and dark and it tastes so good. “You were telling me how you feel.”

So simple, the way she says it, but what’s Sera supposed to say? How is she supposed to break all those feelings down, explain them in a way that makes sense, a way that Leliana will understand?

Weird, yeah. Weird and scary and new and real, all that shit. All of it, like Leliana’s mouth on hers, her hands at her face, like leather and chainmail and the smell of birds. Like all the things she said, those terrifying promises that Sera still can’t quite get her head around, still can’t quite believe. Like _faith_ and _trust_ and _together_ , like _home_ , like the faded colours of a small painted box and new walls in an ancient fortress. Like all of that, and a thousand other things besides.

Only one word she can think of to describe all those things, all the ways she’s scared but not-scared, all the reasons why she’s sitting here, the way it kicks in her chest to stare at the distant Skyhold, her home on the horizon, the ache that bleeds through every part of her. Only one word to describe how that feels, how _she_ feels. One word, and her voice breaks as she says it, breaks like something fragile, something delicate and small, breaks like she does, like a nothing who finally knows what it means to be something.

“Safe,” she whispers. “I feel _safe_.”

And for the first time in her life, it’s the truth.

***


End file.
